Chuck vs the Appointment
by cast2007
Summary: After the death of Sarah Walker, all Chuck wants to do is finish his twenty five years in the CIA and retire. However those residing in Washington other ideas.
1. Chapter 1

**Chuck vs the Appointment**

**Setting: Long After the Series Ends**

**Summary: After the death of Sarah Walker, Chuck has served the Central Intelligence Agency as a spy for nearly twenty years. All he wants to do is retire and spend the rest of his life in peace and quiet. However fate has conspired otherwise.**

**Category: Angst/Drama**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I wish I did though. That would be awesome. :D**

**March 20th, 2029**

President Nathaniel Martin was not having a good day to say the least.

Polls were showing that his public approval rating was at an all time low, having come crashing down from his high of 75 percent to nearly half that.

_At least I'm not as bad as Nixon, Truman, or Bush at the end of their terms_. He thought to himself. It was a small comfort to know that while most of the country disapproved about how things were being run, at least he wasn't the _most hated_ President of all time. Speaking of past Presidents, if he didn't get things turned around he might become one after just one term.

The Republicans were in a prime position to take back the Senate during the midterm elections this year. With the Republicans already in control of the House, a Republican Senate would complete their domination of the Legislature. Were this to happen, the next two years of his Administration would have a hell of a time passing any of his proposed reforms.

The last thing he needed was a scandal. Which meant that not only did he get one, he got the worst scandal possible.

"What's the latest on Franklin?"

Until recently Charles Franklin was the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, the largest and foremost of America's intelligence agencies. However just a hours ago, Franklin had confessed that he had misplaced one of the Agency's computers containing classified information that not only included the details of the intelligence obtained by the CIA, but the identities and the locations of a sizeable portion of its covert agents those without the official cover granted by diplomatic immunity.

"He's under heavy guard at the moment Mr. President," his Chief of Staff Erin Gomez replied, "we have him under suicide watch."

Martin snorted. Franklin was a hack pure in simple. He should have never listened to the Senate Majority Leader and the Chairman of the Democratic National Committee to appoint the man in the first place instead of his first choice.

"How long until the press finds out?"

"Everyone's keeping their mouths shut but I doubt that we'd be able to hide it from the public much longer."

"Any luck on finding it?"

"The FBI, NSA and the rest of the intelligence community are scrambling to find it as we speak sir."

"Tell them to double their efforts. I want that laptop found yesterday."

"I'll tell them that."

He sighed. One problem down another to go, "who do we have that can replace Franklin?"

"Mr. President? Deputy Director Hayworth is now functioning as the acting Director. With his qualifications, he'd be easily able to pass muster and be confirmed by the Senate."

Martin snorted. "Robert Hayworth is the last man I want to be in charge of the CIA. The man's a nightmare."

A holdover from the previous Administration, Deputy Director Hayworth as a career CIA man and had served with the Agency for the majority of his adult life first as an analyst and then on to higher positions. Unfortunately his length of service was only matched by his partisanship. The man was a nightmare to work with, especially in joint operations with the other arms of government, especially the greater intelligence community as a whole.

With Hayworth it was always his way or the highway. If he didn't get what he wanted, like a five year old child he would threaten to withdrawal the support of his Agency and its resources. Martin remembered countless times that either he, Franklin, or Gomez had to put him in his place and remind him who exactly was in charge.

Martin was willing to bet money, marbles and chalk that if Hayworth wasn't there half of the problems plaguing the Intelligence Community would disappear in almost an instant.

However if Hayworth was promoted, Martin was sure that things would get even worse. With the Intelligence Community failing to prevent not one but two major terrorist attacks on American soil within the last ten years, the last thing the nation or his Administration needed was more infighting within the Community.

"Mr. President, with all due respect we can't appoint a new Director from outside the Agency. The fallout from Franklin's bungle will demand that we appoint someone within the CIA."

"I know," Martin said, trying to reassure her. "I have an idea about who I want for the job."

"Why do I have an inkling that I'm not going to like this?" Gomez asked rhetorically.

**The Next Day**

**Bartowski Residence, Burbank**

"Honey! Wake up!" yelled Michelle Bartowski.

"Whaa…?" groaned her husband, Chuck Bartowski tiredly as he moved slightly trying to remain asleep.

"You're going to be lake for work!" She yelled, fuming. She loved the man, but sometimes she did wish he were a bit more responsible for once.

"What time is it?" Chuck asked as he sprang out of bed, now suddenly awake and running to the shower.

"Seven forty five."

"Frak!"

Michelle could not but help but laugh. Her husband couldn't even bring himself to swear unless it was from science fiction. "Once a geek always a geek."

"That's nerd to you!" retorted Chuck from the shower. _If only they knew_, he thought as he washed his hair.

**Fifteen Minutes Later**

"So kids, what are you all up to today?" Chuck asked as he munched on his cereal, fully immersed in his 'geeky dad persona', as he called it.

While CIA policy allowed serving agents to disclose their true careers to their spouse and children, once they had reached an appropriate age of course. It wouldn't be good for your three year old to blab to their friends that their daddy was a CIA Agent after all; Chuck had opted to keep his true career and activities secret. He reasoned that it was better that his family remain ignorant of his true activities.

To his family and friends, Chuck Bartowski wasn't a veteran CIA Agent with over two decades experience in covert operations. Chuck Bartowski was just merely a simple information security consultant who had the unenviable job of going across the country to repair and fix corporate mainframes after they had been taken over by hackers.

According to his wife and kids, he was the biggest overgrown geek in the world. If anyone asked if Chuck Bartowski was a member of the CIA, they'd laugh in their face. To them he was a clumsy but lovable buffoon of a dad, incapable of anything remotely related to being a spy. And that was the way he liked it.

_Maybe I should have told them_ he thought. He frowned. The time for disclosure was long gone. As sweet and patient that Michelle was, he doubted that Michelle would forgive him for hiding a secret this big from her. The fact that her husband was not who he said he was, no matter what good intentions there were would devastate her and the children. For their sake and his, he'd take his secrets to the grave and no one would be the wiser.

"Nothing just soccer practice dad," replied his son as he was buttering his toast, bringing him back into reality.

Fifteen year old Mark Morgan Bartowski was the eldest of his two children. At five feet eight, it was clear that he had inherited his father's height and lanky build. Chuck wouldn't be surprised by the time the boy stopped growing, he'd tower over his father.

"What's a matter honey? You seemed lost in thought?" Michelle asked, concerned.

"Nothing. Just thinking about the last job I had to do," Chuck replied.

"Ah the good old folks at LanTech having trouble again with their…what do you call them?" Chuck couldn't help but laugh. Even after sixteen years of marriage, his wife was still completely ignorant of computers and willfully so, refusing to learn anything connected to his job. While a part of him was republished by his wife's lack of interest in his 'job', he did admit that it was helpful in maintaining his cover.

"Servers dear," he replied. "Stupid idiots still haven't updated their firewalls. Removing that virus from their entire system was a pain."

"It must have been horrible!"

"Yeah it was," he replied. He couldn't exactly reveal that he had been facilitating in the defection of a mid level military official from the Russian Federation with intelligence containing vital information regarding their next generation nuclear attack submarines. It was the truth, well from a certain point of view according to the venerable Obi-Wan Kenobi. But nevertheless it was true; the job was a bitch and half.

"And you Sammy?"

Born fifteen minutes after her brother, his daughter had been surprise, albeit a very happy one.

Since he and his wife only expecting one child, they were completely unprepared for the arrival of a second.

When asked the baby's name, Chuck had insisted on the name Samantha Lisa Bartowski. Surprised at her normally easy-going husband's sudden insistence, Michelle had asked why he had chosen that name. Chuck quickly told her that he liked the name and had always wanted to give the name to one of his children.

After all, Chuck couldn't tell her the truth. It didn't take a master spy to know that his wife would not take it well that he had named his only daughter after the woman who had stolen his heart, CIA Agent Samantha Lisa Watterson, more commonly known by her alias Sarah Walker. The very same Sarah Walker who his family and friends, save for a few believed died in a car crash but instead had fallen in the line of duty long before his daughter had been born.

Chuck knew that despite his dearest wishes, Sarah was dead and had been that way for nineteen years. He had realized that and accepted it years ago. Naming her after Sarah wouldn't bring her back. Nor would molding her to follow Sarah's footsteps. He wouldn't wish that fate on anybody. Not even his own enemies. However by naming her in Sarah's memory, it was his way of honoring and remembering the woman that he had loved so much.

"I'm going to be bringing home Derek to meet you," his youngest told him nonchalantly, either not knowing or caring that those words struck fear into the hearts of fathers worldwide.

"And who is this Derek?" Chuck's eyes narrowed.

"Daad," she said stretching out his name in exasperation, "remember I told you last week. He's my boyfriend."

"Really," he said flatly. _We'll see about that_ he thought. There was no way in heaven or earth that he would let his daughter start dating now. She was way too young.

Besides with him gone the majority of the time, he was unable to watch over her in case something went wrong.

_Why couldn't she be a late bloomer like him and start dating at 17?_ By that time, he'd be out of the CIA and collecting his pension and free to scare the living daylights out of any of those little shits known as teenage boys, warning them that if they even looked at his daughter the wrong way, he'd ensure that they'd never survive to see their next birthdays without missing certain portions of their anatomy.

His wife shot him a warning look. He frowned. They'd talk about this later. Later meaning, when the kids were out of the house and both he and his wife had time to think things through. "Well kids, have a good day at school," he said as he got out of his chair.

"Bye honey," his wife said as she kissed him before he went out the door.

"Love you," Chuck said. "I'll see you tonight." He turned to his daughter, "I can't _wait_ to meet this Derek of yours," Chuck replied in a tone that fooled no one.

Questions, comments? Please review.

By the way, I'm looking for a Beta Reader. Most of my buddies don't watch Chuck or aren't familiar with the series enough to provide feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: I don't own Chuck :D **

**I'd like to give a moment to thank Foxmac for betaing this chapter and for agreeing to be my beta reader. Without her, this fic wouldn't be near as good as it is now. **

Without further ado, I'd like to present to you Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Valhalla Memorial Cemetery, Burbank

Jim Morrison, hummed softly as he tended and removed yet another weed from the tender grounds of the cemetery, listening to the soft rhythmic sounds of jazz.

Some people might have reservations in working in a cemetery. Especially when ones job required that they spend long hours in solitude with the deceased.

Not him. As a single father of five hungry kids and a house that needed its mortgage paid off, he couldn't afford to be choosy about what he could get. He'd gotten over his aversion long ago. Besides, the hours were decent and the pay was good. He couldn't complain.

"Hey there," a voice said, interrupting his concentration.

Jim jumped up, startled. "Jesus," he breathed. "It's you again," he said after he caught his breath. "You know it's not nice to sneak up on people."

Jim had been working at Valhalla for the last fifteen years and knew that the cemetery was host to a number of frequent visitors. Most of them were nothing special, just your average grandparents, parents, siblings, and the like grieving over the loss of their loved ones. Over time, most of them stopped coming having accepted and dealt with their grief and moving on with their lives.

However, one stood apart from the rest.

Long before he had starting working there, every month - sometimes twice a month a man would visit the final resting place of a Sarah Walker and place a bouquet of the biggest roses on her grave. It was a running joke amongst the staff that there were three things that one at Valhalla couldn't avoid, death, taxes and the strange man's visits.

Like many of the staff, he wondered who exactly who this man was. No one had any clue to who he was. If he hadn't alone in the cemetery, he'd be indistinguishable and would easily be lost in a crowd.

The man wore no noticeable jewelry, had no facial markings or tattoos for that matter. The only thing that they knew was that he was male, middle aged and given by the clothing he wore, was somewhat well off.

The staff had a secret running game to guess who the man was. Some thought he was a mobster of some sort, while others thought he was a tragic lover. If you asked Jim, he wouldn't answer. It wasn't his business and he had enough on his plate than to worry about the identity of a mysterious patron.

The man gave him a wan smile, his arms clutching a large bunch of blood red roses wrapped with a black ribbon. "Well, since I've been here trying to get your attention for the last five minutes, it's fair game."

"Well, in that case, I guess I deserve it," he sighed. Jim had a tendency to ignore everything around him when he was working.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Sure thing," Jim replied. "I'm a little hungry right now. Might as well take my lunch break early. How long will you be here?"

"Probably less than an hour." The man reached into his wallet, fishing out a hundred dollar bill. "Thanks for maintaining this place," he said offering it to him.

"You don't have to do this," Jim said, the man always gave him a tip.

"It's fine," he said. "Please, I insist."

"Thanks," Jim said as he picked up his tools and left.

Chuck looked around making sure that no one else was around before pulling out what appeared to most people was a lighter.

In reality, it was a highly sophisticated jamming device. Designed by the NSA and CIA, the TX-900 was designed to take out the most sophisticated Russian and Chinese listening devices. Chuck didn't know exactly how it worked, but with the Intersect - the massive compilation of National Secrets in his head. But if he wanted to, he could readily access the information if he wished.

The device beeped, signaling that it had finished its work. Satisfied, Chuck quickly put it back in his pocket.

"Hey, Sarah," Chuck said looking at the simple but lovingly engraved tombstone bearing the words:

Here lies Sarah Walker

Born February 15th, 1981 Died Mach 12th, 2010

You will always be in our hearts

"It's been a while, hasn't it," Chuck said simply, his eyes starting to mist up.

"I'm sorry for not visiting sooner, work has been…busy," Chuck careful note to make his comments as vague as possible.

Believing that the utilization of gathering intelligence via electronic means, namely satellites, wiretaps and as well as other means, the preceding Winters Administration had instituted a massive Reduction In Force in the intelligence community's pool of trained agents.

While it was deemed successful, both parties had supported the cuts for that matter. President Winters had managed to deal a blow to the intelligence community what America's foes had only dreamed of doing so. With the number of available agents reduced and little or no money being spent on recruiting new ones, the remaining agents had been forced to work overtime in defending the nation.

Chuck with the damned Intersect in his head and who had been already been doing more work than a normal agent should be doing, suddenly had his work tripled much to his displeasure.

It was hard enough to live a dual life. But with the needs of the United States government, operatives like him were in short supply and even higher demand. Unfortunately, it was tearing a hole into the barrier that separated his two lives.

He'd been forced to miss large portions of his kids' lives: missing soccer games, birthday parties, and even the twins' graduation from middle school; and his relationship with his kids had suffered as a result. To them he wasn't really much of a father, being gone almost all the time; to them he was just a stranger who happened to be called dad.

His marriage was also strained. Michelle had been pressuring him to quit for quite some time now, arguing that despite the generous pay that LanTech offered, it wasn't worth the cost to the children or her for that matter. While he and Michelle weren't on the rocks just yet, Chuck knew that if the status quo remained much longer, there would be serious consequences.

"If only you could see me know, Sarah," he said sadly. For once, Chuck was glad that Sarah was dead. It would have killed her to see the man that he had become.

After Sarah's death, he had never been the same. And while Sarah had passed away almost twenty years ago, her death still left a mark on Chuck as if it were yesterday.

To Ellie, Awesome and just about everyone, Chuck seemed to have moved on from Sarah's death. He was happily married to one of Ellie's best friends and fellow doctor, and had fathered twins with her after all.

However, to those who really knew him, knew that Chuck had not and would never let Sarah go.

Sure he loved Michelle, she was his wife after all. But it wasn't the same as with Sarah. Even after almost twenty years of marriage, Chuck knew that deep down inside he'd never be able to share the same degree of intimacy as he had developed with Sarah.

Michelle Bartowski nee Robertson was everything that Sarah was not. He looked guiltily at his left ring finger, wedding band absent for work and, while he didn't admit it, for personal reasons as well. It was her antithesis of Sarah that attracted him to her in the first place, he thought sadly.

His thoughts drifted to his children, Mark and Sammie. Despite him not being there for them, the two had turned out to be decent people no thanks to him, he thought bitterly. While they had been taking their first steps, saying their first words, and playing their first games, he'd been in the field. Sure he was doing it to protect his family, and the rest of America's families from harm but it still didn't make it right. He was a good agent and a patriot but at the same time, had been a horrible father just as his father had been to him and Ellie.

He frowned. Sarah would have hated to see him put his Country ahead of his family and happiness. But nevertheless sacrifices must be made for the greater good he told himself, wishing that he still believed those words.

The beeping of his watch stirred him from his thoughts and brought him back to reality.

He checked the time. It had almost been an hour since he first arrived. He better go lest he inconvenience the groundskeeper.

"Until we meet again," Chuck said sadly before turning away.

**Intech Computer Solutions**

"Bam!" the target nearest to him dropped to the ground.

Just as that target fell, another rose up. "Bam!"

"Bam!" Yet another target down.

Chuck inhaled before letting off three more shots in quick succession from his M15 service pistol as he exhaled, each shot dropping a separate target.

If one where to ask where Chuck Bartowski felt most a home, his answer would surprise many.

It wasn't in the field. Sure, Chuck had been in the game for a long time and was good with what he did, but the constant need to maintain a cover was arduous and took its toll on you no matter how good you were. Although he didn't deny that it deep down inside a part of him enjoyed the chase and the thrill that it offered.

Nor was it at home. While being at home was nice, with no enemy agents, warlords, drug dealers, and the like out to kill you, Chuck still had to maintain a facade of a nerdy computer engineer among his family and friends. A guise while easy compared to what he normally did, was getting increasingly more complicated as time went on.

No, the one place that Chuck felt most at ease these days was in combat.

Combat was simple. No need for covers, no hidden agendas. Combat was all about simplicity. The objective of the game was simple: kill your enemies before they could kill you. And the rules well, they were as straightforward as can be, there were none. And that was just the way he liked it.

"You just got back last night. Don't you ever take a day off Bartowski?" a gravely voice growled, brining him back to reality.

Chuck thumbed the safety and put down the pistol before turning to address the owner of said voice. "Casey, you've known me for how long?"

"Over twenty years," Colonel John Casey, USMC (Retired) grunted.

At age sixty, the former NSA Agent was well beyond the age for field agents and, according to government policy, Casey had been retired kicking and screaming from active duty. While his removal from fieldwork meant the end of him being an agent, it did not mean the end of his career in the NSA. Unlike his body, his mind was sharper than ever and these days Casey spent his days in the operations center directing and overseeing Team Bartowski as it completed its missions and assignments, something that Chuck took great pleasure in reminding him about.

"And what exactly is my training policy again?"

"You only train on days that end in Y."

"There you have it, Casey. You answered your own question," Chuck picked up his pistol and loaded another magazine.

Casey turned to the targets, "I don't think that the United States Government is in the business of assassinating teenagers."

"They aren't," Chuck turned off the safety and fired a shot, "but I am," he said calmly.

Taped on every single target was the face of a teenage boy.

"Let me guess, Sammie's got a boyfriend?"

"At the moment," Chuck replied.

"You know that despite your efforts, she's going to grow up eventually."

"She's too young," Chuck insisted. "When I was her age, I didn't have a girlfriend."

"Well Bartowski, there's two reasons for that: One, girls tend to start dating at a younger age than boys."

"True," Chuck relented.

"And two, you were a geek in high school, Sammie isn't."

"That's nerd, not geek. But you are right." Chuck replied.

While he had been the classic geek in high school, having graduated as Salutatorian in his graduating class, his kids were as far away from that as possible. Mark was the quintessential athlete, having already been tapped for the varsity soccer squad despite only being a freshman.

Sammie, however, was as far away from him as possible, taking after her mother more than himself. While his talents had always been focused on the mind, Sammie's talents lay elsewhere. She was a member of her school's cheerleading squad and a member of the Associated Student Body, or whatever the hell they called it these days. Unlike him and Morgan, who had been social outcasts, Sammie was one the most popular girls in her class. It was inevitable that someone would pursue her.

"However, I did run a background check on the twerp and let's just say I'm a bit concerned."

"Using government assets for personal use is a felony, Bartowski."

"While it could be construed that way, you do remember that I as the Intersect and a undercover agent have a mandate to use whatever means necessary to protect myself and my family and the authorization to use lethal force if need be."

"Yet I don't think that shooting a teenager is one of them."

"The majority of the local magistrates and the District Attorney have at least one daughter. Plus, the President has three daughters as well. I'm sure they'd agree with me or agree with me enough to give me a pardon if need be. Besides, the Intersect can't work in prison."

"Figures," Casey growled. "Typical Bartowski. Always making sure to twist the laws to suit you."

"I did learn from the best," Chuck commented.

After Sarah's death, Casey had transitioned from being a handler to being a mentor to Chuck, teaching him the tricks of the trade. Chuck was confident that even with the Intersect in his brain, if it hadn't been for Casey's lessons on how to stay alive and thrive in the spy world Chuck would be long dead, rotting in some ditch in the middle of no where.

However, while Casey became his primary mentor and for a long period of time partner, the two men were never able to share the same connection and level of coordination that Chuck had with Sarah.

Casey grunted in approval.

"I have his dossier if you want to read it."

Casey picked up the folder and began reading, "Derek Patrick Shaw. Well I can see why you hate the boy already," he commented on the common surname held between the boy and Daniel Shaw, a former CIA Agent turned traitor who had once attempted to win Sarah's heart and later tried to kill her, forcing Chuck to make his first kill. "Still having the same name as that traitor isn't enough evidence to warrant taking him out."

"Keep reading," Chuck said as he let off another shot.

"Okay, where were we? Born March 19th 2013 to Andrew and Mary Shaw. Both parents, still married and happily according to the reports." Casey whistled, "Damn you don't see that often these days.

"Hmm… currently a junior at Providence High School. Has decent but not spectacular grades with an overall GPA of a 3.1. Currently the quarterback of the varsity football squad, chances of any football scholarship however are nil. Typical dumb High School Jock," Casey snorted.

"Girlfriends… well it seems like your boy has been around the block a couple of times," Casey paused, "Suspected of impregnating and fathering a son with a Kelly Richards, a fellow classmate in the same year. He denies parentage. However her family is asking for a paternity test," Casey's face scrunched up. "Ah hell. You know what, I'll join you."

"I knew you'd say that," Chuck paused. "You want me to get you an M15 from the armory?"

"I'd rather use my own piece thank you very much." Casey grunted. "I like real American weapons that have been tried and true on the battlefield, not some foreign made piece of trash, made by people who haven't fought a war in years."

Chuck snorted. Casey's preference for American designed and made weapons, especially those made by John Moses Browning was well known.

Naturally, when the US Government selected a design made by Steyr, an Austrian company to produce its next generation service pistol, Casey wasn't happy at all, refusing to turn in his current service pistol and opting to use it for the remainder of its service life. While such actions were heavily frowned upon, Casey was able to get away with it due to his service length and record as well as his current status as a retired Field Agent.

"I was planning on that," Chuck replied, "I brought out a box of .45 ACP just for you."

"Whoa there, what about me?" a new voice interrupted them.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

"Nah. The docs wanted to keep me there for another day or so but I kept on annoying them to the point that they couldn't stand me any more," replied Major Morgan Grimes, US Army replied.

"Only you, Grimes, could annoy your way out of a hospital."

"Hey I'm good at it."

If one had asked any of Morgan Grimes' old classmates in High School what he would turn out to be, government agent was probably near the bottom of the list while the career choice of professional slacker would be near the top. Inducted as an NSA Agent and a part of Operation Bartowski as a favor from General Beckman after the mission in Paris, the rest of the team, save Chuck, had believed that Morgan would be an annoying nuisance at best and a liability at worst.

However, much to the surprise of many including General Beckman, over time Morgan had proved to be a valuable member of Operation Bartowski and had evolved into a competent analyst and field agent.

When Operation Bartowski had been temporarily disbanded after Sarah's death, Morgan had been offered an option: He could quit, leave the spy life forever and return to his old life or fully embrace the spy life, making it his career until he either retired or fell in the line of duty. To the surprise of everyone but Chuck, Morgan had opted for the latter choosing to stand by his friend. While Chuck had been sent to the Farm, the CIA's secretive training facility, Morgan had been assigned to Fort Benning in which he completed Basic Training and Officer's Candidate School in record time and had been commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the US Army with an MOS in Signals Intelligence.

Morgan had been a true friend, a rare thing to have these days. He stood by Chuck when his mom left, even when he didn't know the gravity of the situation. He'd been there when Chuck got kicked out of Stanford. And when Sarah died, Morgan Grimes, even though he had the option to leave the spy world and return to safety, had stuck by Chuck in his moment of greatest need. Through thick and thin, Morgan had always backed up his friend and Chuck was pretty sure that Morgan would charge into hell for him if he asked for it.

"Don't worry, Morgan. I didn't forget you." Chuck handed him a M15.

"Goody," Morgan put on his earmuffs before loading the pistol.

"Don't forget to hold the grip tightly," Casey snickered. "Unless you want it to fly out of your hands when you pull the trigger.

"Casey, that was almost twenty years ago," Morgan protested referring to a certain unfortunate incident between the two men, "you're never going to let me forget it will you?" Ironically Morgan nowadays was an expert shot with a pistol, and had represented the NSA in a number of Inter-service Tournaments over the years.

"Damn straight, Grimes."

Later on that day

To say Chuck Bartowski hated paperwork would be like calling a _Ford_-class Supercarrier a boat or Bill Gates rich. It was a gross understatement. Chuck hated paperwork with every fiber of his being and there was nothing that he hated more.

Adversaries like the Ring, Fulcrum, and other enemies could be eliminated with extreme prejudice via his service pistol or other methods. But paperwork couldn't be dealt with in that way.

No. Paperwork couldn't be shot, bombed, burned, or even nuked. Paperwork was the immortal fiend that just wouldn't die no matter what one did. Just as one finished one form, another five would pop up in his place.

Chuck groaned as he stopped typing on his console, rubbing his head. He'd been wracking his head trying to remember every single detail on his last mission in Moscow. Why the CIA needed to know if the borscht the enemy guards had been eating contained potatoes before he took them out was beyond even him.

_Fucking pencil pushers_. Chuck mentally grumbled. He hated bureaucrats.

Chuck took a swig of his coffee, emptying the cup and savoring the bitter taste as it went down his throat. It was one of the few things that he enjoyed these days.

His appreciation of Turkish coffee had been an acquired taste. While undercover in Ankara nearly fifteen years ago, Chuck had been forced to stake out his mark from a Turkish coffeehouse for several days before the orders came to take him out. And while his target had been eliminated a long time ago, his appreciation for the beverage still stuck.

Chuck looked at his watch. It was nearly five but nevertheless his stack of paperwork looked as if nothing had been done.

He rubbed his eyes. He wasn't the spry young agent he used to be. He definitely needed another cup of Joe to keep him going.

However, before he could leave his seat, Chuck's flat screen monitor came to life.

"Good evening, Agent Carmichael, or afternoon in your case," said the middle aged man the uniform of a Vice Admiral.

"Admiral Cunningham, what can I do for you?" Chuck asked the Director of the National Security Agency and one of his superiors.

"Carmichael, you've got yourself another assignment."

"Already?" Chuck asked, exasperated. He had just come home from Moscow less than a day ago.

"Well Agent Carmichael, you're preaching to the choir but you know how it goes," the Admiral said sympathetically.

"Well, give me one moment. I'll get the rest of the team in my office."

"No need. This is a solo assignment."

Chuck's eyebrows rose. He hadn't been assigned a solo mission in quite a while.

"What's the intel on this one?"

"I don't know. I'm out of the loop on this one," the Director admitted.

Chuck whistled. This one definitely came straight from the top. "What can you tell me?"

"All I know is that you've got orders to report to Washington. A helicopter is on its way to Bob Hope Airport and will arrive within the hour to take you to your next destination. Don't be late."

**Bartowski Household**

"This is Doctor Bartowski," Michelle said automatically as she picked up the phone.

"Hey honey," her husband greeted her over the phone.

"Where are you?" she asked knowing that Derek, Samantha's boyfriend - she still couldn't believe that her daughter was dating - was going to arrive any minute now.

"I'm still at work."

She sighed. While her husband did bring home a six-figure salary, the fact that he wasn't home most of the time was putting a sizable dent in their relationship.

"Do you want me to set a place at the table for you?"

"About that, honey…"

"Let me guess, they sent you out on another job?"

"Yeah. Meyers Industries has got a big problem on their hands as of last night. With everyone else out on field calls, I'm the only one available."

"_Again_?" she asked in exasperation.

"That's what I told them."

She sighed. "Honey, when are you going to tell them that you need less hours and more time for your family?"

"I'm sorry. I'll do it after this job. I promise."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Three, four days tops."

"Be safe."

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too."

**Well I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **

**To spur on my creative muse, I'm presenting you readers with a challenge. **

**Give me the name of a character in the Chuck series in your review and I will write three facts about that character at the end of the next chapter. **

**Have fun and lets keep our fingers cross for a Season Four of Chuck!**

**Best,**

**Cast2007**


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note: I don't own Chuck**

**Thanks for Foxmac for betaing this chapter once again.**

**My three facts challenge still stands. Name one character, thing or organization in your review and I'll make three facts about him, her or it.**

**Here's three facts about Lester for Jagged1**

**Lester still works at the Buy More serving as assistant manager to Big Mike. This time, would be a much better Assman than he had been the first time. Would eventually take over as General Manager of the Buy More when Big Mike retired. When taking a look at the antics of the Green Shirts and Nerd Herders and the ensuing headaches, he wonders how the hell did Big Mike was able to put up with everyone's shenanigans for so long.**

**Like Chuck Jeff's life was changed via tragedy. After Jeff's death via alcohol poisoning, Lester took a long hard look at his life and didn't like what he saw. At forty years old and still making fifteen dollars an hour wasn't something to be proud of. He became the exact opposite of what he was, serious, responsible and focused on his job. But still every year on the anniversary of Jeff's death, Lester goes out to a karaoke bar and gets hammered and sings in Jeff's memory. It was the only way to keep Jeffster alive in his heart. Jeff would appreciate that.**

**Would run into Chuck shortly after being appointed by the President. Remarkably, he wouldn't be jealous. Running a Buy More was hard enough already, and unlike his younger self, he knew his limits.**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

**The White House**

**Washington, DC**

"Sir, let me say this for the last time, I think you're out of your goddamned mind," Chief of Staff Gomez said bluntly.

"Well, you're not the first," POTUS replied. "Get in line."

"Mr. President, you want bloody fucking Charlie as the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. If the Press Corps knew who he was or what he's done, they will tear you and him apart. Besides, if the radical liberal wing of the party even gets a whiff of his service record, you'll have a revolt on your hands. We can't have that especially right now."

President Martin sighed. "Despite what you and the rest of the Democratic Party think, Charles Carmichael is the best man for the job and that is final."

She sighed. "When this blows up in your face, don't say that I didn't warn you."

"Duly noted." He paused. "Where is he by the way?"

"He should be waiting for you in the Oval Office right now, sir."

"Good. Let's not keep him waiting then."

**

* * *

The Oval Office**

**The White House**

**Washington, DC**

Well, at least the coffee was as good as they said it was, Chuck thought as he sipped from his cup. The White House was famous for many things and was host to many monumental moments in history. Events from the Emancipation Proclamation to the Cuban Missile Crisis were made here, and even now, the White House was still considered to be the seat of the free world. However, there was one little tidbit about the White House that was unknown to many. The White House was one of the few places that one could drink Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee.

As one of the most expensive and exclusive coffees in the world, Jamaican Blue Mountain Coffee was not something one could obtain from their neighborhood Starbucks. At over eighty dollars a pound, few if not any at all, got the opportunity to drink it on a regular basis, let alone try it.

Well, I guess that's just another one of the perks that came with being President, Chuck mused. He knew that the job was a bitch and half and figured that with the weight of the country, and possibly the world, on your shoulders, you needed whatever perks you could get.

As the door began to open, Chuck instantly snapped back into reality, something that had been honed into his psyche after decades of being one of the CIA's top field agents, as his hands reached to his now empty holster that would normally contained his service pistol.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Agent Carmichael," President Martin apologized offering his hand.

"Not at all, Mr. President," Chuck said as he shook it.

"It's finally good to meet the man, who single-handedly saved this nation on countless occasions," Martin said with a smile.

"Please, Mr. President," Chuck replied, quite abashed. "I was just doing my job. Besides, if it wasn't for my team, I wouldn't be standing here today."

"Always the humble one, Agent Carmichael. Humility will let you go a long way," President Martin replied, waving him to take a seat. "Never get too big for your head. It'll bite you in the ass when you least expected," he added with a laugh. "Who am I kidding? You probably are more aware of that than even I am."

"Yes, I am, sir," Chuck grinned ruefully, masking his discomfort.

Martin turned serious. "You're probably wondering why I summoned you here."

"Yes, I am, sir. Getting orders straight from the top of the chain of command isn't in the usual MO," Chuck confessed.

"Agent Bartowski, do you mind if I use your real name?"

"You are the President, sir," Chuck replied.

"Very well then," Martin sighed. "Two days ago, Director Franklin lost a laptop while . . . visiting a companion of his."

Chuck snorted. Despite being stationed on the West Coast he knew from his contacts at Langley that Franklin had a vice for escorts and prostitutes. It was one of the worst kept secrets in the Agency.

"That laptop contained almost all of the identities of our undercover operatives," Martin continued. "We were able to get it back with the data intact but we aren't sure if the data was copied or transmitted before we were able to recover it."

"And I'm assuming that my name was on that list?" Chuck asked with rising dread.

"Yes," came the succinct reply.

"Shit!" Chuck sighed, rubbing his fingers on his forehead. "I assume that I have to make the arrangements then?" he asked not looking up.

"Agent Bartowski, I assure you that the Witness Protection Program is more than capable of providing for you and your team's families. However . . . "

At this, Chuck looked up surprised.

". . . I didn't drag you all the way to Washington to inform you that you and your family's lives were in danger," Martin continued then paused. "With Director Franklin's resignation, I need a new Director and I want you to have that job."

"Sir?" Chuck's eyebrows rose in amazement. "You have got to be joking."

"Agent Bartowski, I assure you I'm not joking," Martin said, seriously. "I need you at the helm of the CIA."

"Sir, I think you have the wrong guy," Chuck said, a hand raised as if he were trying to forestall the inevitable. "I have little or no connections in Washington. Heck, I haven't even been assigned to Washington let alone the Eastern Seaboard my entire career."

"Agent Bartowski, you're selling yourself short. I went to the heads of the DEA, DIA, NSA, CIA, and the rest of the intelligence community to see who was the best agent around, and guess they all recommended?" Martin paused not expecting an answer. "You. It seems that their estimation of you is the only thing that they can all agree on these days.

"Agent Bartowski, I've studied your service record. Unlike countless agents out there, you don't care about your career advancement or your prospects for promotion. You don't want to further your agenda or the Agency's. All you care about is getting the mission done as cleanly as possible. Agent Bartowski, you're a rare man to find these days, and that is why I need you at the helm of the CIA." Martin looked at Chuck. "I take it that you don't want the job?"

Chuck sighed, "Sir, the only thing I wanted was to finish my remaining two years and retire on a full pension."

Martin chuckled. "Here I am offering you a job that would make you one of the most powerful men in the world and yet you want to turn it down. Most men, or women for that matter, would salivate over that. That's just another reason why you're the best person for this job."

"Mr. President, I'm thankful for the offer but I must respectfully decline."

"Very well then," Martin replied with a sigh. "I was hoping to have you as the next Director but since you've declined, I'm afraid that Deputy Director Hayworth will become the next Director of the CIA."

"Mr. President, are you talking about Robert Hayworth?" Chuck asked with disbelief in his voice and surprise in face.

"Is there anyone else occupying the Deputy Director's position?" Martin asked with a straight face.

"Mr. President, I'm sorry for being blunt but are you out of your fucking mind? Deputy Director Hayworth would be the worst person to lead the CIA especially at this time and situation."

"Well, Agent Bartowski, since you respectfully declined take the job, I am more that sure that Deputy Director Hayworth will. Unless of course-"

"Goddamn it!" Chuck swore angrily. "You fucking set me up. You're forcing me to choose between my own happiness and my country's well-being, knowing full well that my conscience won't let you or the country down."

"I assume that you'll take the job, then?"

"Fine, on one condition."

"Name it, Agent Bartowski, I'm listening."

"I want a free hand regarding the Agency. You and your predecessors did a splendid job gutting the Agency and I'm going to have my hands full as it is already. The last thing I need is resistance."

"You have it. Within reason, of course."

"Naturally."

"You know that's another thing I like about you," Martin said with a smile as he leaned back on his seat. "You have this sense of just when and where to speak your mind and when that happens you're not afraid to call them out. You don't pull any punches, do you?"

"I only throw as many punches as needed to get my point across. Anything more is just overkill."

"You're going to go far, Mr. Bartowski, as the Director of the CIA, that I can see."

"Well, I do have to get past confirmation first, sir."

"That you do."

* * *

**Bob Hope International Airport**

**Los Angeles, CA**

_Am I doing the right thing?_ Chuck thought to himself for the umpteenth time. Becoming the Director of the CIA was to achieve something that few men and women had ever achieved in their lifetimes. It was a great honor and responsibility to be placed in charge of the largest and most influential intelligence agency in the US and, possibly, the world. Things like this didn't come up everyday, he told himself.

He frowned. By taking his job, he would be taking whatever tranquility that his family had and throwing it out the window. His family, the one that he had done his utmost to keep them out of his hidden life would be thrust directly in the middle. Whatever anonymity he and his family had would be gone, as their lives would be thrust right in the middle of the spotlight.

And what about his wife? How would Michelle react? Chuck knew that his wife would not take it lightly that he'd been lying to her for the last eighteen years. Would she forgive him even with his good intentions? The road to hell is paved with good intentions, he thought. He'd find out when he told her.

And what about his kids? How would they react when they found out that their father wasn't a socially inept computer salesman but instead was one of the CIA's top agents? Would they accept their father for who he really was? How would they take moving from Burbank to the East Coast, and being uprooted from their friends to some distant place across the entire country?

And what about his team? Casey could handle another relocation, Chuck was sure about that. He'd been on the go many times before, first as a Marine and then as an NSA Agent.

Morgan would follow Chuck through hell if need be. He had been with Chuck since the very beginning. Ever since that time in fourth grade, Morgan had been by his side. And now as an agent, Morgan had been right beside him. Sure, he had taken a while to get acclimated to the life of an agent, but when he was done, there was no one else that he'd have by his side and covering his back.

He knew that his team could handle being relocated but like him they had set down roots in Burbank and had families of their own. Unlike his own, however, both Morgan and Casey's families knew about their work. It was something that had set up a considerable amount of friction between him and the rest of his team.

He needed time to think.

"Sir?" the flight attendant interrupted his thoughts. "We've just landed."

"Thank you," Chuck replied. He needed a sandwich.

* * *

**Lou's Deli**

**Burbank, CA**

"Can I help you, sir?" asked the middle-aged brunette behind the counter.

"Hey, Lou, long time no see?" Chuck replied with his signature grin.

"Do I know you?" Lou asked with a suspicious frown.

"I'm hurt. You don't recognize an old flame?" Chuck noticed the man manning the counter beside her, tensed up. He was probably her husband, he thought.

"Chuck?" Lou eyebrows rose as she finally recognized him.

"It's me."

"Come here, you. It's been years. Let me give you a hug."

Chuck glanced at her husband as he embraced her. He was definitely on his shit list now. Hopefully, Lou would be making his sandwich not him.

"So what's with the get-up?" She pointed to the black suit that he was currently wearing. "You look like a…"

"G-Man?"

"I was going to say federal agent but yes."

"Well, you know my job, the other one."

"Chuck, will you please tell me that this is not another inspection! The Health Inspector just came last week."

Chuck laughed. "Lou, I assure you that I'm not here on business. I'm just here to order some sandwiches. Besides, if the FDA wanted to do an inspection, they wouldn't send me. Your sandwiches are too good for this deli to be shut down, imported meat or not."

Lou's reaction made Chuck grin. People were so obvious.

"Trust me," he said. "I will not relay any information to my superiors at the Food and Drug Administration. I don't have a warrant to search the deli and I'd be in more trouble with my bosses if I searched the place and demanded an inspection than if I let the whole thing slide. We've got enough trouble enough on our hands already with knock-off Chinese medicines and the like."

"Well, that's good for me. What would you like?"

"I'll take a Chuck: turkey, Muenster cheese, egg bread, grilled and with a dash of mustard and mayo if you still have it, of course."

"While I don't normally have it in stock, I can whip one up for you. Anything else?"

"I'll take a roast beef with provolone, a pastrami and a ham and cheese sandwich please."

"Wow, you must be hungry."

"Well, it's not just for myself but for a number of my friends as well."

"Well, give me a couple of minutes and I'll have them hot and ready."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing."

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"Chuck, you got me out of going to federal prison twenty-one years ago because of my ties with the Demetrios family and I never got to thank you for it. Think of this as just a payment of me and my family's debt to you."

"Why, thanks," Chuck replied as he pulled out a twenty. "I'm flattered."

"I thought I said no payment," Lou stated as she gave him the sandwiches.

"Yes, you did. But you never said I could leave a tip," Chuck replied as he put the twenty into the tip jar. "For excellent service as usual," he said walking out the door, sandwiches in his arms.

* * *

**Intech Computer Solutions**

**Burbank, CA**

"Hey, guys, miss me?"

"You're back early," remarked Casey.

"Well, it was a simple assignment. In fact, it wasn't an assignment at all," Chuck, laughed. "Sandwiches?"

"Chuck, what's going on?" Morgan asked. "Last time you brought sandwiches to work, it was when you told us that you were going to ask Michelle to marry you."

"Sit down, guys," Chuck said as he passed out the sandwiches. "Casey, here's your pastrami."

"Pastrami? You know that I can't eat pastrami," Casey objected.

"Casey, one pastrami sandwich is not going to kill you. Live a little, will you? Besides, I'm not going to tell Kathleen if you aren't."

"Fine," Casey grunted as he grabbed the sandwich.

"Morgan, here's your roast beef with provolone."

"Thanks, Chuck," Morgan said gratefully. "My favorite as usual."

"And, Alex, I didn't forget you. Ham and cheese as the lady requested."

"Thank you kind, sir," remarked Special Agent Alexandra McHugh-Grimes of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, John Casey's daughter and Morgan Grimes' wife. While not a nominal part of Team Bartowski, Alex was as much as a part of Team Bartowski as he, Morgan, and Casey were. Alex McHugh-Grimes served as the FBI liaison to Team Bartowski and provided them with the ability to act with impunity, under the cover of an FBI Special Task Force, and shielding them from the limitations placed on the CIA and NSA concerning domestic operations.

"So what's up?" Morgan asked.

Chuck took in a deep breath. "The President wants me to take over the CIA."

Casey snorted. "Very funny, Bartowski. Really, what's going on?" he asked as he took a bite savoring the oily yet tasty meat.

"Guys, I'm serious."

"Chuck, I do admit that you surprised us but really tell what's going on," Alex told him with a gentle smile.

"Besides, you as Director of the CIA? I'm sorry but you'd be a bloody nightmare for any politician to handle," Morgan added smirking.

"Michelle isn't cheating on you, isn't she?" Alex asked concern showing on her brow. She never did like Chuck's wife.

"Michelle and I are fine," Chuck replied silently.

"So what's really going on?" she asked as she was about to take a bite of her sandwich.

Chuck sat there silently.

"Shit!" Casey said. "He's not joking, is he?"

"I'm afraid not," Chuck replied with a heavy sigh.

The rest of Team Bartowski looked at him in complete silence.

"So what are you going to do?" Morgan finally asked.

"I'm going to take the job," Chuck replied again with a heavy sigh. "We all have been through a lot together and I'd like your support. The President has given me a free hand in remaking the CIA and I'd like to bring you three along with me to Langley."

"A free hand?" Alex asked.

"The President told me within reason," Chuck replied. "I'm not sure how much leeway I'll have but it seems that I have his support."

"So you want us to pack up our lives and move to Langley?" Morgan asked around a mouthful of provolone.

"Well, in a nutshell, yes," Chuck replied with nod before taking a bite of his namesake sandwich.

"Why?" Casey finally asked.

"Director Franklin lost a laptop containing nearly the all the identities of all of our covert agents and their location," Chuck answered. "Our names were on that list, Casey. Normally, we and our families would go into witness protection but the President thinks that this is the perfect opportunity for me to become the next Director."

"I'd take witness protection than commanding a desk," Casey growled. His hatred of paperwork was legendary.

"Likewise," Morgan agreed.

"Guys," Chuck began as he put his food down. "Remember all those times that we bitched about those idiots in charge who didn't know fieldwork if it bit them in the ass and what we'd do if we were in the same position?"

"Yes, your point being?" Alex asked as she took another bite.

"We have the chance to become those people. We'll be calling the shots and we can make sure that those under our command won't get screwed over."

"Don't people in charge almost always get a lobotomy almost the second they've been placed in charge of an important position?" Morgan quipped.

Chuck laughed and then turned serious. "Guys, both you and I both know that this country's intelligence apparatus has been gutted and needs to be rebuilt. Regardless of your decisions I'm going to take the job. However, I would really appreciate your support in this."

"Damn it, Bartowski. I'm in on one condition," Casey grunted.

"Name it, big buddy."

"I want the Deputy Director of Operations position. The current one is a complete nitwit. Besides most of you CIA nimrods couldn't see espionage if it bit them in the ass. Present company excluded of course."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence Casey. That I can do. Good to have you on board."

"Chuck," Morgan began. "You've been my best friend ever since the fourth grade. We've been through the awkward stage before puberty, the awkward stage during puberty, and the years after puberty. Without you I would have never been able to realize my full potential and be where I am today. I would be probably be still stuck in the Buy More working with my father-in-law and waiting until he retired to get the General Manager's position. And most importantly, I would have never met my wife and mother of my children."

"That's so sweet," Alex, replied as she gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Ugh!" Casey grunted in disgust mostly out of show. He loved his daughter and knew that there was no one else that he'd rather have as a son-in-law.

"Hush, Dad," she gently admonished. "Or else I'll tell Mom about your sandwich."

Casey growled with defeated undertone.

"Likewise, I'm in," she added. "Besides, if Morgan here goes, then I'll have to watch over the two of you to keep the both of you out of trouble."

"Thanks." Chuck smiled, relieved. "I'm grateful."

"Now," Alex began, bringing the conversation back to the other matter at hand. "What are we going to do about your family?"

Chuck sighed. Unlike the rest of his team, his own family didn't know anything about what he did. Michelle and Ellie were completely in the dark, with Awesome doing his best to cover for Chuck when he needed it the most.

"You are going to have to tell them," Alex insisted.

"You're right," Chuck replied grateful for her counsel. "We're going to have to tell them the truth. I'll call Devon and Ellie and tell Michelle to have everyone over at four this afternoon for a family meeting." He turned to his best friend. "Morgan."

"Yeah?" he asked with mouth wide open and his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

"Loose the beard. You're going to be wearing your dress uniform."

"But I just finished growing it out again!" Morgan protested. "You know how much I hate having to shave it off for my annual airborne qualification at Fort Bragg. Besides, Alex thinks it's sexy."

Casey growled threateningly at that.

"One, Morgan, too much information. I don't need to know what kind of activities that you and your wife do on your own personal time. And besides given the fact your father-in-law is sitting right next to you . . . " Chuck inclined his head in Casey's direction. " . . . "I think that he wants to know about it as much as I do."

"And second, you're lucky that you're undercover and are subject to modified grooming standards. Otherwise, you'd have to be clean shaven every day."

"Damn it, Chuck. How come you don't have to be bound by the same rules again? Its so unfair."

"Well, I'm CIA you're NSA. If you wanted the keep the beard you should have joined the CIA. It's one of the perks we have," Chuck smiled.

"Well, at least I my officer's commission and the fact that I can retire after twenty with a full pension as opposed to waiting twenty-five years," Morgan replied.

"Touché," Chuck sighed. "I'll see you all at my place at three thirty then."

Thoughts?

Please review.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck**

**Authors Note: Thanks for Foxmac for betaing this fic and helping me with the ending of this chapter.**

**Also this story is now AU as of Season Three Episode Thirteen. I have included elements for the rest of the season three but this story diverges from canon after Chuck vs. the Other Guy**

**

* * *

For Mooncow33**

**Jill**

**Never thought Chuck could be a real spy. Especially with his down to earth and loveable attitude and outlook on things. His naïve nature was what was the most endearing yet frustrating thing about him.**

**After escaping for Federal custody, works as an assassin for hire and successfully evades capture from Federal authorities for years. It is only by chance that she and Chuck meet years after.**

**Dies via a bullet fired from Chuck's pistol. As she lies on the pavement dying, a tear drops from her eyes as she realizes that monster that she's become. Yet as she stares at the man that killed her, she can't help but notice Chuck's eyes are dry and unflinching as he watches her die. **

**

* * *

For Zipfe**

**Carina**

**Always did her utmost to rile Sarah and later Chuck up. Despite being spies, they were always so predictable as people. **

**After Sarah's death, tried going after Morgan Grimes. Much to her surprise she was stopped by a young fresh faced girl wearing the badge of an FBI Agent ten years her junior who told her that Morgan Grimes was **_**her**_** man and under no uncertain terms would she tolerate anyone intruding on her territory. The fact that she, a veteran DEA Agent lost the ensuing catfight over Morgan Grimes of all people to a rookie FBI Agent fresh out of training has become legendary in FBI and DEA circles. **

**Didn't like Michelle Bartowski one bit. She was everything that Sarah wasn't. In her opinion, when finding a wife, Chuck could have done much better. The fact that she didn't even try to respond to any of her barbs, only made her estimation of the other woman even lower. **

_

* * *

Why is this so hard?_ Chuck thought to himself as he sat in the living room.

He was Charles "Bloody Charlie" Carmichael for God's sake, one of the best agents to ever serve the CIA. He'd taken down some of the world's most notorious criminal organizations, stopped a group of traitors from taking over the US government, and went into the heart of Moscow itself to steal something right out of the Russian Federal Security Bureau's headquarters. He could kill someone in the same manner as if he were flossing his teeth. Yet despite it all, he still couldn't face his own family.

"Having trouble?" Morgan asked, now decked in his Class A dress uniform, his service cap tucked underneath his arm.

"Yeah." Chuck checked his watch. It was currently three fifty-five. Five minutes until his family came home and five long minutes before he told them the truth.

"Relax, Chuck. You're going to be fine," Alex assured him, dressed in her usual business suit.

"Easy for you to say," Chuck remarked. He turned to Casey, who, like Alex, wore a dark suit. "Casey, I just want you to know that my respect for you just went up a couple of notches. How you were able to go to Kathleen and tell her the truth was beyond me."

"Don't kid yourself, Bartowski," Casey said. "It's not going to be easy."

The front door opened, revealing Devon in his usual scrubs and had arrived several minutes early. "Hey, Chuck," he greeted. "I got your message and came as fast I as could. Ellie and the kids will be arriving shortly." He paused as he looked at everyone seated. "What's going on?" he asked.

Chuck sat there silently.

Devon's eyes widened in realization as he saw Casey, Morgan, and Alex blending in with the background. "Holy crap," he breathed. "You're telling them?"

"Yeah," Chuck managed a weak smile, his team at this moment choosing to withdrawal to the kitchen and leaving him alone with his family.

"Chuck," Devon began. "I hate to say this to you but good luck. You're going to be in the doghouse for some time," he added as he took a seat on the middle.

"I know," Chuck said with a sigh.

Ellie was next. Arriving with her adolescent sons: Devon Junior, Dean, and Darren in tow. Ellie and Devon had taken even longer than Chuck and Michelle had to have children, waiting until their late thirties to do so.

"Hey, Chuck," she greeted. "What's going on?" she asked after she hugged him. "Look at you, all dressed up. I don't remember the last time you wore a suit."

"You'll see," Chuck said with a forced smile. "Just take a seat." _I wear one more often then you think,_ he thought silently.

"Okay, Chuck," she said taking a seat alongside Devon and her boys. "I trust you."

_I wonder how much you'll trust me after I tell you truth,_ he thought as he huffed in nervousness.

"Hey, honey," Michelle greeted as she came through the door with Mark and Sammie behind her, decked in their soccer and cheerleading outfits respectively. "What's going on?" she asked in confusion as she eyed him over. As far as she knew, her husband never wore a suit.

"You're going to want to take a seat for this," Chuck began as he waved her and their children to a seat and stood up.

"Sure, sweetie," she told him quite unsure of what was going on as she and the children took a seat on the sofa. Once settled, she asked, "What's going on, Chuck?" she repeated.

Chuck paced for a moment before stopping with a sigh. "There's something that I need to tell you all," he began.

"Are you having an affair?" his wife asked cautiously.

"No," Chuck replied with a shake of his head. "It's worse than that."

"Really? What could be worse than that?" Ellie asked.

Chuck steeled himself. _It was now or never._ "I'm not who you think I am." He paused for a second. "I'm a spy." _There I said it_.

"What?" Ellie said if she hadn't heard him correctly.

"For the last twenty-three years, I have been in the employ of the Central Intelligence Agency. I currently hold the rank of Special Agent in Charge and possess a Level Nine security clearance."

"What about your job at Intech?" Michelle's eyebrows furrowed.

"My job as an information security professional was just a cover. Intech was just a front created by the CIA."

"Wait a second," Ellie interjected. "You said twenty-three years. Weren't you still at the Buy More?"

"Yeah. I was recruited as an analyst on my twenty-sixth birthday." He paused. "Remember all of those odd events that started happening right after? The Wienerlicious suddenly opening up right next to the Buy More and the fact that John Casey suddenly becoming one of my coworkers at the Buy More?"

"Wait," Ellie interjected again with a waved of her hand to halt his narration. "So you're saying that all of those installs that you had to do…?" She left that question hanging.

"Were field missions," Chuck supplied. "That's all I'm going say about that," he stated firmly. "Unless I want to go to prison for violating a number of laws and state secrets."

"Wait. You mentioned the Wienerlicious and John Casey, you mean that…?"

"John Casey is a retired agent in the National Security Agency," Chuck answered with a nod. "We've been partners for over the last twenty-three years."

"And Sarah?" Ellie asked delicately as she looked at Michelle at the corner of her eye. The topic of Sarah Walker was a touchy subject in the Bartowski family. Chuck never liked talking about her, and she and Devon were more than happy to oblige him, especially after his marriage to Michelle.

"Sarah Walker was an agent for the Central Intelligence Agency," Chuck began with a faraway look in his eye. "Contrary to popular belief, she didn't die in a car crash. She died saving the life of the man she loved." He turned looking directly at his wife. "Sarah and I were partners in every sense of the word. I was the brains and she was the brawn." He smiled, remembering. "There wasn't anything that we wouldn't do for one another. When she died, I was thrown into a rut that I almost didn't get out of."

"So that's why you left the Buy More and Burbank?" Ellie asked gently.

"Yeah," Chuck admitted. "After her death, I decided that being an analyst wasn't enough and decided to become a field operative," he told her. It was the truth to a certain extent. He did leave the Buy More to go to the Farm, the CIA's top secret training facility, to complete the training that he had once flunked out of.

"Wait," Ellie said with a slight frown. "Wasn't that around the same time that Morgan left as well?"

"Yeah," Chuck admitted. "Morgan was recruited by the NSA roughly around the same time as I was and left for Fort Benning to begin training. We graduated roughly around the same time, him a newly commissioned Second Lieutenant in the US Army and me as an agent."

"So, you're saying that Morgan Grimes," Ellie said with disbelief. "The man who took my pillow as his date to junior prom, not only knew about your secret life but is also a Lieutenant in the NSA?"

"Well, he's a Major now," Chuck corrected. "And is due for promotion to Lieutenant Colonel." He looked up and called out, "Morgan. You guys can come out now."

Morgan came into the living room, followed closely by Casey and Alex.

Ellie stared hard at Morgan in disbelief, her eyes staring at the medals and campaign ribbons on his chest. "You're in the NSA."

"Been in for over twenty years now," Morgan replied.

She turned her gaze to Alex, looking at her ID card on her chest. "You're one of them?"

"Special Agent Alexandra McHugh-Grimes, FBI, at your service," she smiled weakly.

"Wait a second." Ellie waved both her hands as if to let herself catch up and take everything Chuck had told them so far. She kept expecting a camera to pop out of nowhere and tell her that this was all a prank. But judging by her brother's nervous yet serious demeanor she knew that he was telling the truth. "So you're saying that all of our closest family friends either knew about your secret life or are a part of it? "

"In a nutshell," Chuck added.

Does Kathleen know?" she asked Casey.

"Kathleen has known about my life just as long as Alex has," Casey replied. He owned his wife that much.

"So all this time, you've been keeping secrets from us," Michelle stated, her voice rising for the first time since this revelation began. "Why didn't you tell us? We're your closest family friends for Christ's sake!"

"It wasn't my place to tell," Morgan replied. "Chuck didn't want you to know and we respected his wishes."

"Why, Chuck?" Ellie asked. "Why did you keep it all a secret?"

"It was for your own protection," Chuck replied. "I've made a lot of enemies over the years and I wanted you to have no part of this life."

"Enemies?" Michelle asked with concern as the consequence of Chuck's spy life came to the forefront. "What kind of enemies?"

"Enemies that would have no compunction at all to storm in here and kill all of you just to send a message," Chuck replied succinctly.

"So all those times that you went on those computer security problems…?" Michelle began to ask, almost afraid of what the answer will be.

"Those were missions that I went on." He sighed. "It did help that you knew almost nothing about computers," he admitted.

"Wait," Ellie said turning to Devon. "You haven't said a single thing. It's almost as if you knew." Her eyes widened as that realization sank in. "Wait, you _knew_ about Chuck's life?" she asked accusingly.

"Babe . . . " Devon began.

"Ellie," Chuck interjected. "Devon has known that I was a spy for over the last twenty years. That's all he knows."

"But why didn't he tell me?" Ellie asked as she turned to face Chuck. "I'm his wife, for crying out loud."

"Two reasons, sis," Chuck answered. "First, Devon has enough regard for me to respect my wishes, and second, he doesn't want to go to prison."

"Prison?"

"My occupation and identity is a national secret. You know what Fort Leavenworth is?" Seeing their blank stares, Chuck continued. "Fort Leavenworth is where they put the traitors, deserters, and other miscreants too dangerous to be put in the regular prison system. If Devon would have told anyone, I mean anyone about who I was, the government would have had no compunctions about throwing him into Leavenworth for the rest of his life." He stared at Devon who was currently as white as a sheet. "When it comes to national security the government doesn't mess around."

"As awesome as Captain Awesome is," Morgan remarked. "He isn't awesome enough to survive a day in Leavenworth. I've been there to interrogate some prisoners and it's not pretty."

"How did Devon find out?" Ellie asked.

"Let's just say that if Devon hadn't wanted to play a hero and went into my apartment that one night, he wouldn't have been in the know," Casey told her.

"Hey," Devon objected. "I thought you were a creepy stalker with an unhealthy fascination with Chuck. It didn't help that you tried to kill me that night."

"_What_?_!_" Ellie exclaimed, her eyes staring angrily at Casey.

"Relax, Ellie," Chuck began.

"_Relax?_" Ellie shouted. "This man tried to kill my husband!"

"Ellie, all Casey did was punch Devon in the face."

"And pointed a gun at me," Devon added.

Casey, Morgan, and Alex all glared at Devon.

"Moron," Casey growled.

"Everything worked out in the end," Chuck said, trying to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand. "No one was hurt and in the end everything worked out."

"Everything worked out in the end?" Ellie asked incredulously. "One of our family friends tried to kill my husband!"

"Babe, it was a misunderstanding that was quickly resolved," Devon added trying to pacify his wife.

Chuck turned to his children and nephews. "You guys have been quiet."

Mark and Sammie looked at each other for a moment and silently communicated in a way twins communicate. "Well, Dad," Mark began. "No offense but you as a CIA agent? It's pretty unbelievable."

"You're like the last person who we'd ever think would be a member of the CIA," added Sammie.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

His children along with his nephews shook their heads.

"Very well," he replied as he took a deep breath. He didn't want to do this. "House," he said out loud to no one in particular. "Activate Armory Delta Seven. Authentication: Special Agent Charles Carmichael. Authorization code: Yankee Delta Seven Niner Echo."

"Identify confirmed," replied an artificial female voice coming from the family's sound system that no one had heard before except for Team Bartowski. "Activating Armory."

One of the living room walls suddenly opened up, revealing a large amount of weapons, and tactical equipment, enough to equip an entire squad.

"Whoa," Mark breathed as he gazed over the weapons. "Just like 'Call of Duty'."

"They're not just like 'Call of Duty'. These aren't toys," Chuck snapped. "You can kill someone with those. I've seen what happens to people on the other end of those and it's not pretty."

"How many people have you killed, Chuck?" Ellie asked. "Ten? Twenty?"

"Too many," Chuck replied sadly. He'd stopped counting years ago.

A new voice came via the sound system. "Agent Carmichael? This is Langley Control. What's your situation? You just activated your armory. We can have a tactical team arriving at your house in ten minutes."

"Negative on the tactical team. Everything's hunky-dory," Chuck replied, using a prearranged code phrase to let his superiors know that he wasn't under duress.

"Copy that. Langley out."

"Believe me now?" Chuck replied, a slight grin on his face as he saw his family awestruck.

"How did you get those…things in the house?" Michelle asked. She hated guns and had spoken out numerous times in favor of gun control.

"They've been there ever since we had the house," Chuck replied.

"You mean to say that we have a large cache of weapons in our house for the last eighteen years?"

"Well, not just one cache, there are others as well," Chuck replied.

"Where?" she asked almost dreading the answer.

"I can't tell you that. And even if you did know, you wouldn't be able to access them. The armories are keyed to my voice and my voice alone."

"Anything else I need to know about, _honey_?" Michelle said the last word as if was poison.

"Oh, yeah. By the way the entire house is bugged, there's at least five close circuit cameras and three listening devices in each room."

"_What_?" Michelle exclaimed in surprise.

"Remember right after we bought the house? How we were able to get the place remodeled so cheaply?"

"You mean to say…?"

"Those were CIA specialists in disguise fitting out the house to serve as a secondary command center if need be."

"So all of these years, we've been spied on by the CIA? Every moment of our lives?"

"Those cameras are keyed directly to CIA Headquarters and my office at Intech. It's for our own protection."

"You mean to tell me that people had been watching us in the shower and while we're changing?" his daughter said disgustedly.

"I assure you that those watching on the other side of the cameras are professionals and dislike the job as much as we like being watched."

Chuck neglected to tell his family that several years ago, the CIA had caught one of its employees conducting excessive surveillance on his daughter. When he had found out, Chuck had personally beat the man to the inch of his life and fired a 9mm round at each of the man's kneecaps before he was carted off to federal prison.

"Who's Carmichael?" Ellie asked. "And why did he call you that?"

"It's a cover name," Chuck answered. "One of many that I use in the field." He looked at his family. "What? You really think that I'd use my real name while on missions?"

"Why are you telling us this now?" Michelle asked. "You said you didn't want us to know about your . . . other life for our own good, yet you're choosing to tell us this right now. What's going on?"

"Numb Nuts here . . . " Casey jabbed his finger towards Chuck. " . . . Got a promotion."

"Of sorts," Morgan added.

"That's a good thing, right?" Devon asked.

"I've been appointed by the President to become the next Director the CIA" Chuck said. "And I've accepted his offer. The President wants me and the rest of our family in Washington in two days to make it official."

"Wait," Devon interjected. "Isn't the CIA based on the East Coast?"

"Langley, Virginia to be exact," Chuck replied.

"So you want us to pack up whatever we can and move across the entire country so you can start your dream job?"

"Well, it's not that simple," Chuck answered as he rubbed the back of his neck. _One down, one to go,_ he thought. "The President will announce my appointment via a press conference. Following that, I'll have a few weeks before my confirmation hearings before the Senate Intelligence Committee. After the hearings are concluded, the Committee will vote on whether or not my appointment merits a general vote by the Senate at large. If the vote passes, my appointment will be either confirmed or denied."

"How long will that take?"

"Well, normally, most appointments take roughly three months. Since we need a CIA Director almost immediately, I'm guessing that the whole process will take about a month at most."

"I don't believe this," Michelle stated as she stood up, having had enough. "You want to uproot our family, our lives and for what? A promotion for a job that we didn't even know about? We've been married for eighteen years, Chuck. Yet you still didn't trust me enough to tell me what you really did for a living." She shook her head in disgust before looking at back at him. "I thought I knew you, Chuck," she said with finality as she stormed out of the room.

"Michelle…." Chuck called back at his wife. He made as if to follow but was halted by a feminine hand on his arm.

"Let her go, Chuck," Ellie said gently as she touched his arm. "She needs some time to think. It's a lot to take in."

Chuck smiled in gratitude a little sadly.

"Don't thank me just yet," Ellie told him as she saw her brother's silent gratitude. "I'm just as angry as she is. Even more so. But unlike her, I know that you did it for a good reason. Up here . . . " She pointed to her head. " . . . I understand why you did it. But down here . . . " She pointed to her heart. " . . . It's going to take some time for me to accept that."

"Thanks." Chuck turned to gaze as Alex, Morgan, and Casey, who had decided to answer any questions that the rest of the family had to ask. He frowned as he saw Mark almost enraptured as he listened to Casey's time as a Marine. Mark had always looked up to his Uncle Casey and it seemed like even now, he still respected him.

_I hope he doesn't want to follow in Casey's footsteps, _he thought. It would kill him if Sammie or Mark decided to go into government service just like he did.

After all these years, Chuck finally knew how his own father, Stephen Bartowski had felt when Chuck was a possible CIA candidate. Yet at the same time, Chuck knew that while he had the same feelings, he would do things differently than his father.

Chuck had hated the fact that throughout his life, many people - Bryce, his father, and others - had tried to influence his life and steer him in the direction that they believed to be the best for them. Unlike his father, he'd let his children choose their own fate rather than have him choose theirs. If they wanted to join the military or the intelligence community, Chuck would plainly tell them as it was. No sugar coating, no exaggerations whatsoever. They would know exactly what was expected of them and what they were getting into. Once they had all the information, Mark and Sammie would be free to make their own choices and Chuck would respect and support whatever they chose.

His sister's words brought him back to reality.

"She'll come around Chuck," Ellie told him. "Just give it some time."

_I hope so,_ Chuck silently replied.

* * *

Thoughts?

Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck**

**Authors Note: Thanks for Foxmac for betaing this fic and helping me with the ending of this chapter.**

**Also no offense to Koreans but Kimchi is disgusting. I don't know how one can eat that stuff. **

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**Facts**

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**Mooncow33**

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**Stephen Bartowski aka Orion**

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**Unbeknownst to everyone besides his wife, he had a ruthless streak that many didn't suspect him of having. While he appeared to be mild mannered and shy, to his enemies Orion was a heartless man that had no compunctions in eliminating those who stood in his way. Years later the Ring would find out the hard way that Chuck Bartowski is his father's son.**

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**Loved three people in his life. His wife, and his two children were the center of his world and he would do anything to protect them. While Orion was initially against his only son being a spy, before he died Orion would provide Chuck with some of his most lethal inventions that would make him a legend in the intelligence community and later the world.**

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**Spent his last days dying of cancer with his family. Left Chuck with his entire estate. Even to this day Chuck owns a series hideouts and arms caches that the CIA doesn't know about. **

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**Chuck And Michelle's Bedroom**

Michelle Bartowski was not having a good day to say the least. Her husband of eighteen years had turned out to be not the man that she thought he was. He wasn't the lovable computer geek. No. Chuck Bartowski turned out to be a CIA Agent and had been lying to her the whole time that they had been known each other. To add salt on the proverbial wound, she and Ellie were the only ones who didn't know. His friends, family, and as if almost everyone else knew about his secret life. She was his wife, for God's sake. She had every right to know about this. Yet Chuck hadn't even mentioned a word to her for the last eighteen years. Hell, the only reason why he had mentioned it now was due to a promotion of all things!

Michelle sighed. _This was so fucking unbelievable_. Why did this happen to her of all people? What had she done to deserve this? She remembered watching "True Lies" as a teenager and laughing when Jamie Lee Curtis' character, Helen Tasker, unwittingly discovered the fact that her husband, Harry Tasker, played by the former governor of California, Arnold Schwarzenegger, was actually a spy. It was so obvious that an idiot could have realized that there was something fishy going on.

_It wasn't so funny anymore, _Michelle thought. Chuck had been able to pull the wool over her eyes for the last eighteen years and she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Chuck was good. Very good in fact. He had to be in order to have been able to live with the charade for so long.

_He's a CIA Agent. Of course he's good,_ Michelle's inner voice told her. She sighed. She'd always wondered why Chuck had to deal with so many computer problems and why Intech had never hired additional staff to deal with the near constant demand for information security specialists or whatever the hell Chuck called them.

A gentle knock on Michelle's door jarred her from her thoughts. "Go away Chuck," she snapped. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Michelle, it's me. Kathleen," the voice behind the door replied. "Can I come in?"

"Did Chuck put you up to this?"

"Chuck knows I'm here but no, he didn't ask me to come talk to you. I'm doing this of my own accord."

Michelle sighed. "Fine. Come in," she replied and unlocked the door.

Kathleen looked at the woman in front of her before she began. "Michelle, I know this hard for you to hear but I know what you're going through right now. And-"

"Really?" Michelle spat. "You think you know what's going through my mind at this very moment? My husband has lied to me for eighteen years!" Her voice was getting louder and louder as her tone become more and more hysterical.

"I thought mine was dead for twenty-one," Kathleen replied simply.

"What?" Michelle turned to look at Kathleen sharply.

"Take a seat and I'll tell you a story." Kathleen sat down and patted the empty space beside her.

Curious despite her anger, Michelle complied.

Kathleen was quiet as she gathered her thought before she began. "I was twenty-three years old, fresh out of San Diego State with a teaching credential when I met a Marine Lieutenant by the name of Alexander Coburn during a night out with my friends. We hit it off pretty well and one thing led to another. And before we knew it, we were engaged." She smiled at the memory. "Alex and I were deeply in love. I moved up and left San Diego, choosing to move to Oceanside to be near him at Camp Pendleton. Alex couldn't stop bragging to his fellow officers about how lucky he was to be marrying me. I was the envy of all the local women. The wedding was to be held the spring.

"Everything was perfect," Kathleen continued. "Shortly before the wedding, Alex had been ordered to deploy to Honduras for an urgent mission. I told myself that everything was going to be okay and that once that mission was done, Alex would be coming home. In fact while he was away, I found out that I was pregnant. It was a perfect welcome home present for my future husband. But it wasn't to be. During my last call to him, just when I was about to tell him the good news, the phone cut out. A few days later, a grim faced Marine along with a chaplain knocked on my door telling me that Alex was dead.

"I was devastated," Kathleen continued after pausing for a moment. "My life was turned upside-down in that one moment. My fiancé was dead and I was going to be a mother." She paused again to regain her composure.

"It was too painful for me to stay where I was," Kathleen said, picking up the tale. "Oceanside and San Diego held too many memories for me: of Alex and the life I would have had. So I moved to Los Angeles and got a teaching job at the Los Angeles Unified School District teaching elementary school. I left everything of my old life behind save one thing. When my daughter was born, I named her Alex in memory of her father, who had died a hero defending his country."

Kathleen sighed. "Flash forward twenty-one years later. I'm in my forties and Alex was just about to graduate from college with a degree in Criminal Justice. Everything was going just fine when some international terrorist group tried to kill me. And lo and behold, my former fiancé decides to show up."

"You mean that Alexander Coburn is…" Michelle's eyes widened in realization.

"John Casey's real name?" Kathleen gently asked. "Yes." she said with a smile. "When I found out, I was beyond angry. You see, I'd grieved for Alex for years. Even after he was dead for years I never got into another committed relationship. Sure, I saw a few men during that time but every time I was about to commit, I backed out. They were nice and were decent people, but it just didn't feel right."

"So after all of that you just magically took him back?" Michelle asked sarcastically.

Kathleen laughed. "Far from it. I yelled and screamed at him for hours. I told him to never to come near me or my daughter again. I wanted no part of his life and told him that I didn't care if he lived or died. I thought that I would never see Alex Coburn or John Casey or whatever he called himself those days, again.

"The next day, a young CIA Agent by the name of Charles Carmichael knocked on my door asking to speak with me. I told him to go away and that I wanted no part of my former fiancés life. He replied that since he did save my life that I owed him enough to hear him out. Grudgingly, I let him in my house. Once he was inside, Chuck explained the circumstances behind why Alex faked his death and the fact that he had no choice. He went on to say that my words had broken John and that he was currently drinking himself into a nearly permanent drunken stupor and asked me to forgive him.

"When I told Chuck the reason why I said those words, he told me deep down inside that I didn't truly mean what I said. I told him he was full of it but deep down inside, I knew he was right.

"John, as he calls himself now, and I apologized to one another. He was sorry for the manner in which he broke the news to me while I told him that I was too angry to even listen to him. However, we didn't magically get back together like something out of a tacky romance movie. We weren't the optimistic young teacher and Marine Lieutenant anymore. Both of us had changed over the years. Some changers were for the better and some were for the worse. We decided to get to know one another just as friends. If something were to develop between the two of us, then both of us were open to pursue it as long as we want to. However, for Alex's sake we agreed to be civil to one another no matter what happened.

"It took us a long time to work out our issues with one another and it didn't develop instantly. It took us ten years to finally get to the point in which both of us were comfortable with marriage and I took the name of Kathleen Casey."

"Why Casey instead of Coburn?"

Kathleen sighed. "For security reasons. To the world at large with the exception of Chuck, my daughter, and her family, my old fiancé Alexander Coburn died in 1989 in Nicaragua. It would be suspicious if my former fiancé were to miraculously reappear after being dead for decades. To our neighbors and friends, John Casey just happens to be my husband and a wonderful stepfather to my daughter. Even now I don't call my husband by his birth name except for in private.

Kathleen turned to look at Michelle, giving her hands an empathetic pat. "I'm not asking you to forgive Chuck for what he's done. All I'm asking is for you to give him a chance. Maybe two of you will end up closer than before like me and John did, or maybe the two of you will drift apart because of this. I don't know. But I do know that Chuck deserves at shot at the very least."

* * *

**At The Same Time**

"I guess you're mom is pissed at me?" Chuck told his two children as he tried to break the ice.

Ellie, Devon, and their kids had moved to the backyard. While Casey, Alex, and Morgan had left to watch over them, leaving Chuck alone in the room with his two kids.

"If mom wasn't pissed, I'd hate to see her angry," Mark replied.

Chuck laughed hollowly. "Me too," he replied. "So, do you have any questions? Bear in mind that I can't answer everything."

Sammie stared at him for some time before asking, "So you've been a spy this entire time?"

"Yeah."

"Even before we were born?"

"Even before I even met your mother," Chuck replied, then paused. "Well, I take that back. I think I might have briefly met your mother once at one of your Aunt Ellie's parties right after she got out of med school."

"Is there anything else we need to know?" Mark asked in a tone sarcastically. "Any more skeletons in the closet that you've been hiding?"

_You don't know the start of it son_. He thought before laughing. "Interesting choice of words. Just for future reference, son, never ever ask a CIA Agent what you need to know. You may not like the results"

"Present company included?" Mark's eyebrow rose.

"Touché."

"Are there any other things we need to know about our family?" Sammie asked seriously.

"Wow, Sammie. You don't pull any punches," Chuck remarked. "Well," he said after a while. "I'm not the first person to be a spy in the family. I'm actually a third generation spy."

"Really?" Sammie's eyes widened.

"Yeah. My grandpa from my mom's side served in the OSS during World War II. I looked up his file and he did a lot of crazy stuff back in the day, stuff that you couldn't believe. My other grandpa served in the Polish Army as an infantry Lieutenant and later on as a commando in the Free Polish Army before moving to the US after the war."

"Wow," Sammie breathed. "That's one generation. Does that mean that our grandpa and grandma were…" she prompted.

"Spies, yes," Chuck nodded. "Both my mom and dad worked for the CIA." He paused. "And both gave their lives in the line of duty to protect the ones that they loved."

"Does Aunt Ellie know?"

"No, and I would appreciate it if you kept that to yourselves."

"Great, Dad," Sammie said, her tone with hint of sarcasm. "_More_ secrets."

"No Sammie," Chuck gently admonished. "As I'm her brother, she should hear the truth from me. The last thing she needs is to hear it third hand from either of you."

"So, Dad," Mark interjected quickly changing the topic. "What's it like being a spy?"

"Wow, another tough one." Chuck paused as he thought how to best answer that prickly question. Then he fell back on an old cliché. "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicated it then," Sammie told him.

"Well," Chuck began. "Being a spy is a being a multitude of things: soldier, athlete, whatever was needed but most importantly you have to be an actor. But unlike an actor if you mess up, the director doesn't yell at you. You die."

"Well, seeing as you've been able to pull the wool over my eyes for nearly twenty years," Michelle remarked as she stood in the doorway. "I say that you were pretty damn good at it." She turned and addressed their children. "Kids, I need to speak with your father alone."

Wordlessly, the twins left the room not before Mark whispered softly to Chuck, "Good luck, Dad."

"Michelle," Chuck began.

"Save it, Chuck," Michelle said, holding a hand in front of her. "Just listen to me. Chuck, we've known each other for eighteen years and have been married for sixteen. I'm your wife. I'm supposed to be your trusted confidant, the one you turn to when you need help, the one that you're supposed to turn to when you have your problems. Yet despite all of that, you never ever told me. Why?"

"Michelle," Chuck began. "I would have liked to say that I kept this from you solely for your own protection but…"

"But?" Michelle gently prodded.

"The truth is I did it for my own selfish reasons."

"Why?"

"Throughout my career as an Agent, I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of doing yet were necessary to protect the people that I love. I've got blood on my hands, Michelle. Blood that will never leave me until the day I die. Yet in spite of all of the nasty business that I had to deal with, I knew that there was one place, a refuge from the rest of the world and its ugliness that I could escape to.

"I never told you because I was afraid that if you knew what I really did for a living," Chuck continued. "That you'd leave me." He paused for a moment, sighing. "If you want, I'll leave and never come back. You can take the house, the kids, everything. Say the word and Chuck Bartowski will disappear from the face of the Earth forever."

"Chuck," Michelle said as she embraced him in a hug. "I've invested time, blood, and tears in this marriage. I'll be damned if I throw this all way without a fight."

* * *

**Naval Air Station Point Mugu**

"Honey why did we have to drive all the way from Burbank to Ventura County again?" Michelle asked her husband. "Why couldn't we have just driven to Bob Hope and taken a flight to Washington?"

With orders to report to Naval Air Station, Point Mugu to await further instruction, Chuck and his team along with their families had packed up their stuff and had driven all the way to Point Mugu, much to his wife's exasperation.

"I don't know," Chuck replied. "All I know is that I have orders to report here and that's what we've done."

"But it would have been more convenient to use Bob Hope or even LAX," Michelle objected. "We'd probably be halfway to Washington by now."

"Michelle, the first rule of government service is when they say jump you say how high," Chuck told her. "It doesn't matter how stupid the order may sound, you still got to do it."

"That's insane."

"Welcome to government service, Mrs. Bartowski," Casey grunted.

"Which brings us to rule two," Morgan added.

"Hurry up and wait," the three men and one woman chorused at once then laughed.

"I thought the government would be more organized than this," Michelle huffed.

"The government? Organized? Are you on a different planet?" Casey asked her as if she were insane.

Michelle was about to retort when Chuck jumped in. "Bad, Casey. No shattering my wife's ideals about an efficient and responsible government or else."

"What happens if I don't?" Casey dared to ask.

"Then I'll take your birthday present and give it to Morgan," Chuck told the retired NSA Agent.

"Oh, no," Casey said sarcastically in as high a pitched voice as he could muster. "I'm going to miss out on a fifty dollar gift card to Applebee's or TGI Friday's. What am I possibly going to do now?"

"Fine then." Chuck turned to Morgan. "Morgan?"

"Yes, boss?" Morgan replied warily, seeing the gleam in Chuck's eyes.

"Do you want a fully restored M1903 Springfield bolt action service rifle that was used by the Marines in Belleau Wood during the First World War?"

"Sure why not," Morgan shrugged good-naturedly. "I might not be a rifle guy, but I'd be proud to own a fine piece of Marine Corps history. In fact," he added, grinning. "I'll mount it in the fire place." He turned to Alex. "What do you think, honey?"

"I think that it would be a very good idea," Alex replied going along with it.

"Wait!" Casey interjected. "I'll behave."

"Good boy."

"So…Chuck," Morgan began. "My birthday's next month what are you getting _me_?"

"That my friend is a secret." Chuck grinned. "I could tell you but I'd have to kill you after that."

"I'd like to see you try, CIA," Morgan dared.

"Heh, you Major Grimes?" Chuck scoffed. "I won't even need to try."

"Boys," Alex scolded them. "Play nice. You're scaring the civilians."

Chuck turned to see his family staring at him in shock. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Boys will be boys," Alex muttered.

"Alex," Ellie said. "My respect for you has just shot up exponentially."

"Why thank you," Alex replied before turning to regard the three men in front of her. "At least someone here appreciates me for putting up with these three Neanderthals."

Chuck was about to protest, when he spotted an airplane coming over the horizon. "Looks like our ride's here."

"What is _that_?" Michelle asked, pointing at the aircraft after it landed.

"That, honey, is a Boeing 797 jet airliner," Chuck replied. "The next generation jumbo jet, successor to the 747 and larger than the European A380."

"Euro piece of shit," Casey grunted.

"What's with the paint job then?" Michelle asked. The plane was full of government markings with the words USAF clearly marked on them. "Why would the Air Force own a passenger plane?"

Chuck inwardly grinned. "Well, honey, this particular aircraft is a heavily modified Boeing 797, in fact one of two being produced by the order of the US Government and will be assigned to the US Air Force's 89th Mobility Wing." He turned to Casey and asked, "How much did each one cost again?"

"Somewhere around the lines of four hundred million a pop I wager," Casey replied.

"Four hundred million dollars for a single airliner?" Ellie exclaimed. "Who needs such an expensive plane? Do you know what we could do with that money?"

"Well, sis, I sure hope that you don't tell the President that. After all this is his plane."

"You mean that this is Air Force One?" Ellie's eyes goggled at the implication.

"Not exactly," Chuck hedged. "They only use that name if the President is on board the plane. But yes, this will be the next Presidential aircraft."

"Mr. Bartowski?" said a foreign voice with a southern drawl. It's owner wearing an Air Force uniform with a Colonel's insignia.

"That's me," Chuck said.

"Colonel Frank Shelby at your service."

Seeing the man and hearing his name Chuck flashed.

_**Frank David Shelby. Born in Gulfport, Mississippi on March 3, 1985. Graduated from the US Air Force Academy in 2007. One of the few lucky graduates assigned to fly the F-22 Raptor, then at the time the United States' most advanced air superiority fighter. Participated in the Second Korean War in 2013 and was one of the first pilots to score an air-to-air kill against the North Korean People's Air Force's MiG-29s, the first air-to-air victory since Desert Storm. Likewise served in the Greater Asian War between the People's Republic of China and India and its allies including the United States. Increased his kill count to six, shooting down a number of Chinese Su-27s and J-10s. Commanded the First Fighter Wing at Langley Air Force Base up until recently in which he was appointed as the new pilot of Air Force One.**_

Morgan and Casey tensed up slightly, recognizing that Chuck had flashed. They relaxed when they saw him take the man's hand and smile at him.

"My apologies for being late," Shelby added. "The eggheads that the factory in Seattle wanted to do some last minute checks before we left Seattle. The President figured that if you're going to arrive in DC, why not arrive in style."

"No problem, Colonel," Chuck said. "We're honored for the opportunity." He turned to his family. "Come on. Let's not keep the good Colonel waiting."

* * *

**Press Lounge **

"Wow this is the life," Mark remarked as he commandeered a plush leather seat, leaning back with an appreciative sigh. "Do you always travel like this?" he asked out of the blue.

"No," Chuck replied shaking his head. "When you travel on the government's dime, you travel as cheaply as possible. Most of the flights I took were either economy class or even worse on a military transport," he added distastefully.

"Military transport?" Mark asked curious.

Chuck turned to Casey. "Do you want to do the honors?"

"Sure why not," Casey grunted and began. "Imagine being in a plane a bit smaller than this one but instead of all the creature comforts: plush leather seats, air conditioning, and the like, there's none of that. Just an empty space to store whatever's needed. Then cram as many troops, supplies, and whatever you need in a war zone and take an eight-hour flight.

"You're cramped, your body is sore from sitting on the most uncomfortable position and to make it even worse, you're packed in so tight that you can literally smell the breath of everyone around you. By the time you land, you're so sick of everyone around you and so desperate to get out of the plane that you don't care that you've just dropped into a war zone." Casey paused. "You know I think that the military does that on purpose. Otherwise some of the troops wouldn't leave the plane. But I digress.

"To make things even better, you know plane that you're on?" Casey asked rhetorically. "It's piloted by someone who barely graduated from flight school."

"Why's that?" Mark asked.

"When the Air Force's newest officers graduate from flight school," Casey replied. "The top of the class are usually assigned to train on the best and most advanced fighters and bombers. The middle of the pack gets to fly the older fighters and bombers. While those at the bottom of the pile, they get to fly the transports.

"But I'm not finished," Casey continued. "There's one slight problem when you're on a military transport. The transport you're on is slow and big as hell. It's designed to haul cargo, after all, not for maneuverability. Normally, it's not bad but when you're in a war zone it's like having a giant sign that says 'Please kill me.'" He turned to Chuck. "Remember that one time in Korea?"

"Oh, yeah," Chuck said with a grimace. "From the pit of my stomach."

"What happened?" Ellie asked. She knew that she wasn't going to like the answer.

"After finishing a successful op," Casey began. "We hitched a ride on a C-17 from Kusan Air Force Base to Japan. It was your standard med-evac flight containing American and allied casualties from the front lines in Korea to Japan. By that time, the US and ROK air power had achieved almost complete air superiority over the Norks-"

"Norks?" Sammie interrupted, confused.

"North Koreans," Chuck supplied.

"Wait. Isn't there only one Korea?" Mark asked.

Casey held his head in his hands. "When were you born again?" he asked.

"2014."

"Damn, I feel old," Casey mumbled to himself. "Korea used to be two countries: North and South Korea until after the Second Korean War in which the two merged into the United Republic of Korea. Just like there used to be East and West Germany back in the Cold War."

"The Cold War? Wasn't that like a hundred years ago?" Sammie asked, her face scrunched up in concentration.

"I'm not even going to answer that one." Casey turned to Chuck. "What the hell are they teaching these kids anyways?"

"Don't blame me," Chuck replied putting his hands up. "I didn't plan the school curriculum."

"Of course not. Let's not blame Bartowski," Casey said sarcastically. "After all how many times has he fu-"

"Let's get back to the story," Michelle interrupted.

"Okay," Casey said, still glaring at Chuck. "So we were sitting back enjoying our flight when a Nork MiG-29 somehow got the jump on us and luckily for us it opened up with its thirty mm cannon."

"Luckily?" Ellie asked.

"Well, if it had missiles we'd have been dead," Morgan supplied.

"Anyways," Casey said, transferring his glare to Mrogan. "The MiG came from above and caused one of our starboard engines to go out. By this time, the crew realized what was going on and was calling a mayday and spamming every channel available to get some fighters to take out the MiG ASAP.

"Soon after, the Nork pilot came in for another pass. This time, however, he managed to hit the cockpit killing the flight crew and leaving us with no one flying the damn thing."

"So what did you do?" Mark asked, hanging to Casey's every word.

"What we had to," Casey replied casually as if it were the most obvious thing to do. "Me, Grimes, and your dad ran into the cockpit and took take control of the aircraft."

"How did you manage to fly the plane?" Mark asked Chuck.

"All those years of playing video games paid off," Chuck replied, leaving out the fact that he had flashed on the controls.

"So," Casey continued. "Just when we couldn't think that it would get any worse, we found out that the MiG had poked a couple of holes too many in the airframe and that the cargo bay was depressurizing fast, forcing us to bring the aircraft to sea level ASAP."

"Why would you have to head towards sea level?" Mark asked a frown.

"When you're twenty thousand feet above sea level," Casey informed Mark, matter-of-factually. "The air up there has little or no oxygen and the temperature is very cold." He pointed to the window. "If that window there were to suddenly collapse, the room temperature would drop by at least thirty degrees. We'd have little or no breathable air and we'd be sucked out of the airframe like a vacuum cleaner."

"What a wonderful picture there Casey," Michelle remarked. The twins were now apprehensively doing their best not to look out the window.

"Well, he asked for it. Now where was I?" Casey paused. "Ah," he continued. "While we were rapidly descending, the MiG went in for yet another pass and tore our hull to pieces. There was a big gaping hole in the airframe and the port wing was barely holding on. We've got only got one functional engine with two on fire and the fourth blown to hell. We're all hanging in for dear life.

"Just when we thought that the MiG was going to finish us all off, the cavalry arrived. A pair of F/A-18 Super Hornets from the USS _Ronald Reagan_ blew the MiG out of the sky and saved our bacon. Even though the MiG was gone, there was still the problem of us being in the air. With our current state of affairs, we couldn't stay in the air much longer. So after getting on the horn with air traffic control, the decision was made to attempt a landing at Gimhae International Airport in Busan, the nearest runway available.

"As we approached the runway, we noticed that the entire place has been cordoned off with emergency responders surrounding the airport waiting to get us out of the plane as soon as we landed. When we were touching down, the entire aircraft was shaking as if it's about to fall apart any minute. The second we hit the ground, the right wing snapped off. Luckily for us, however, we still have our landing gear intact. As we were rapidly decelerating, we were holding on to whatever we could find bracing for the inevitable impact.

"The second we stopped, the three of us immediately got the hell out of the cockpit knowing full well that the plane could blow at any second and began to evacuate the rest of the passengers. It wasn't until after we all got out of the plane and had stopped to catch our breath on the tarmac when your dad suddenly collapses. We were so full of adrenalin that it wasn't until then that we noticed our injuries.

"Me, I got lucky," Casey replied at their unasked questions. "All I had were a couple of cuts and bruises. Grimes here got a fractured arm and a dislocated knee. But your dad? Your dad got it the worst. Evidently, shrapnel from had shattered his left shin and broke half of his ribs. He ended up spending a month in a Korean hospital until he was well enough to be transferred stateside." Casey paused before adding, "Oh one more thing. We all got treated for frostbite as well."

"Yeah," Chuck added. "I got a bit tired of rice and kimchi pretty quickly."

"So that's why you don't like Korean food," Ellie said as realization dawned on her. She had never understood why Chuck had always refused to go to Korean town for a bite to eat.

"Wait," Michelle added. "You told me that you were in a car accident."

"The intelligence community along with the military created a cover story," Chuck said with an apologetic and sad look on his face. "The last thing they wanted was for a crack intelligence team to be compromised."

Michelle frowned not liking the fact that her husband had lied to her.

"Honey," Chuck gently said as he played a placating hand on her arm. "I know it's hard but you're going to have to accept the fact that a lot of the things that I've done you're never going to know about."

"What happened after that?" Devon asked, changing the subject.

"Well as nominal members of the military," Casey replied, glad for the change. "Grimes and myself got the Silver Star for our actions, while Bartowski here got the CIA equivalent, the Intelligence Star. After a couple months of bed rest, we went back to work."

"Just like that?" Devon asked surprised.

"Yeah. Just like that," Casey confirmed. "Well that's nothing compared to that one HALO drop over Pakistan the three of us did with the Rangers during the Greater Asian War."

"Casey," Chuck groaned. "Will you quit scaring the living daylights out of my family by telling them of our escapades all those years ago?"

"Well two reasons Bartowski," Casey replied. "One, we don't have anything else to do and I'd like to keep the kids here where I can see them. Rather than have to worry about them poking their noses into something that they shouldn't be looking at. But two and most importantly, you made my life hell for three years. Payback's a bitch Bartowski," Casey grinned.

"Damn it," Chuck sighed. He did have that coming.

"You jumped into battle with the Army Rangers?" Mark asked with awe in his voice.

"You don't want to know," Chuck told his son.

"HALO? I think I've heard that term before. What's is that?" Awesome scrunched up his face as he tried to remember where he had heard the term before.

"Stands for High Altitude Low Opening," Morgan explained. "It's not the standard jump that any civilian do on a weekend with just a few hours of training. You jump out of a plane anywhere from 25,000 feet and higher above sea level and go into free fall until the last two to one thousand or so. All three of us," Morgan paused. "Wait now it's only the two of us now that _Grandpa_ here retired." he pointed at Casey, "Are certified for HALO drops."

"So you're in free fall for at least twenty thousand feet? Sounds awesome. Must be a let down from the adrenalin rush once you pull your chute though. " Awesome tried relating to the other men.

"Not really," Morgan replied. "You still got people on the ground trying their best to kill you."

"Oh," Awesome replied chastened as he realized the implications.

The remainder of the flight to Washington was spent in silence.

Thoughts?

Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**

**Thanks for Foxmac for betaing this chapter.**

**Chapter Six**

**The Rose Garden**

**The White House**

**Washington, DC**

"My fellow Americans," President Martin began behind the podium with both Director Franklin and Chuck on either side of him.

Chuck shifted uncomfortably as he stared into the camera. Years of working in the shadows had made him weary of the cameras. He had spent his entire career working in secret to protect his country, and now he and his secret life would be revealed for all to see.

"As of yesterday, Director Franklin has informed me of his intention to retire from public service in order to spend more time with his family and enjoy his remaining years in relative peace."

Officially, that's what the Press Corps and the general public were being told. In exchange for Franklin stepping down immediately, he was asked - in no uncertain terms - to throw the entirety of his political connections to ensure that Chuck would be confirmed by the Senate in the fastest manner possible as well as a written agreement that he would remain out of the public eye for the rest of his life. Franklin would be granted immunity from prosecution.

Unofficially, what the Press Corps and the rest of the public didn't know was that the government got to avoid revealing one of the most embarrassing national security disasters since the Chinese Navy was able to sink the USS _George Washington_ and the rest of its battle group in the first shots of the Greater Asian War.

It wasn't what Franklin deserved but it benefited both parties. He got to avoid being sent to Fort Leavenworth for the rest of his life. Something that no sane person wanted to be confined to, as being sent to live with the most violent criminals was nearly a death sentence unto itself. The fact that Franklin was in his fifties, out of shape, and had never worked a hard day's work in his life meant that he would be lucky to last a single week let alone a day behind bars.

"As a result," President Martin continued. "It is my honor to appoint Charles Bartowski as the next Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.

"Mr. Bartowski is a patriot and a man dedicated to the defense and well-being of this country. His service of over twenty years as an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency has been exemplary and is a testament to his dedication to the security of Americans everywhere.

"I believe that as a veteran operative, Mr. Bartowski is more than well qualified to lead our nation's premier intelligence service, and I am confident that he will provide the leadership that the men and women of the CIA deserve.

"I am confident that with the vacancy left by Director Franklin's departure, the Senate Select Intelligence Committee will hold a swift and fair confirmation. In the meantime, Deputy Director Hayworth will serve as Acting Director until the Senate formally confirms Mr. Bartowski.

"Thank you and that is all," Martin finished. "There will be no questions at this time."

**Short While Later**

**The Oval Office**

**The White House**

**Washington, DC**

"Mr. Bartowski, I'm glad to finally meet your wonderful family," President Martin said as he greeted Chuck's family in the Oval Office. "I trust that you're settling in?"

Upon arrival, Chuck, his team, and their families had taken up residence at a five-bedroom house located in Arlington, West Virginia not far away from the Capitol. The government had covered the cost of rent, utilities, and other living expenses. While it was crowded, it did fulfill its purpose of serving as a place to live and operate out of until Chuck was confirmed as Director and everyone could find appropriate housing in and around Langley.

"You must be Mrs. Bartowski," the President said as he shook Michelle's hand.

"It's an honor to meet you Mr. President," Michelle replied, a little in awe of meeting the President.

"That honor's all mine. Your husband's a hero. You must be proud of what he's accomplished throughout his career."

"I am," she replied with a slight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. _Despite the fact that he lied to me all of these years,_ she thought darkly.

"Mrs. Bartowski, my hat goes off to you. I don't know how you can see your husband off knowing full well that he's putting his life at risk on a regular basis for all those years. I know that I couldn't have done it."

"Uh, thank you, Mr. President," Michelle said awkwardly. Unlike Chuck, she wasn't a good liar.

Either the President didn't notice or more likely chose to ignore her pitiful attempt at a lie as he quickly turned his attention to her children. "And these must be your children?"

"Yes, they are," Chuck replied proudly.

"Twins I assume?" 

"Yeah. It was a complete surprise. We were only expecting one but we're more than happy to have both of them." Chuck beamed before pointing to Mark as he began the introductions. "My son, Mark Morgan Bartowski." Then he gestured to Sammie. "And my daughter, Samantha Lisa Bartowski."

"Excellent." The President offered his hand to Mark.

"It's an honor to meet you, uh, Mr. President." Mark stammered.

"Why, thank you, young man," Martin said as he shook his hand before turning to Chuck's daughter.

"Same here," Sammie blushed nervously. She was definitely out of her element.

"You all must be proud of your father and the things that he's accomplished. Many Americans can safely sleep at night because of men like him watching over us," President Martin said proudly. "Speaking of which, we're having a state dinner with the British Prime Minister tonight and I'd like for you, your family, and your team to attend."

Michelle frowned. "We just arrived two hours ago. Mr. President, I'm not-"

"We would be honored to attend," Chuck interjected quickly.

"Splendid," the President replied, rubbing his hands together with suppressed glee. "We'll see you tonight at seven. Oh, if you need anything don't be afraid to give my Social Secretary a call." He handed Chuck a card. "Now, I'm sorry to be rude, but I have yet another meeting to get to."

"Not a problem sir," Chuck replied before the President left the room, his Secret Service Detail following him.

"What was that for?" Michelle hissed as soon as the four of them were alone.

"Honey, you can't just tell the President no," Chuck shot back.

"Well, genius," Michelle said sarcastically. "I didn't pack any formal wear for any of us." She looked at her watch, "It's almost one. How are we going to get anything for the all of us to wear before it starts?"

"Well, you don't have to worry about me," Chuck replied. "I brought a tux along with two suits in addition to the one that I'm wearing."

Michelle's eyebrows rose. "What?" She hadn't seen him speak of packing a tux or any formal wear for that matter.

"Michelle, this isn't California. You don't just go around wearing jeans and a t-shirt, especially in the Beltway. Most people here won't take you seriously unless you're wearing at least a half-decent suit. In fact here, casual is either a polo shirt or a button up with slacks."

"Fine," she glowered at him. "You're covered. What about the _rest_ of us?"

"Don't worry you and the kids are covered as well," Chuck replied. "I picked the clothes out myself."

"_Really_?" Michelle looked at him as if he had grown a second head. Her husband's fashion sense consisted mainly of jeans, his beloved Chuck Taylors, and whatever shirts he could get his hands on off the bargain rack. "I have to hear this."

"Well, for you," Chuck began with a beginnings of a smile. "You're wearing a navy blue Vera Wang dress that was featured in Vogue during New York's Fashion Week last year."

Michelle frowned. _Was it all an act? Did she really know the man that she married? The Chuck she knew would have never known what to do in this situation._

"Don't worry, honey," Chuck reassured her, mistaking the reason behind her frown. "I had it custom made to your measurements."

"What are my measurements then?" Michelle asked somewhat warily.

"38-32-36," Chuck replied casually.

"How did you know that?" Michelle asked surprised as she hadn't bought a dress in years. The fact that her husband knew so much about her yet she knew so little about him troubled her greatly.

"Two reasons. One, I'm your husband. Two, I'm a Special Agent for the CIA and quite possibly the next Director. If I were you, I'd be more surprised if I didn't know your dimensions." Chuck reached into his suit pocket and brought out his phone. "Here's a picture," he said showing her.

Michelle's eyes rose. She can't fault him for his choice of her apparel. Chuck did have good taste. "Fine. What about shoes then?"

"Took care of that. I also packed matching shoes also by Vera Wang, size four wide, by the way."

Michelle glowered at Chuck. "Watch it, buster."

"Hey." Chuck raised his arms, defensively. "It's not my fault that you have feet that are wider than average."

"Nice call for avoiding the F-word dad," Sammie commented.

"Thanks, Sammie," Chuck replied before turning back to his wife. "Don't worry about jewelry and other accessories. I got that covered as well."

"What did you get me, Dad?" Sammie asked hopefully.

"You'll see," Chuck replied, cryptically.

Sammie was a typical teenage girl and a fashion addict. "Dad," she whined.

"Sorry, sweetie," Chuck replied, shaking his head. "Mark's not complaining."

"As long as it fits I'm fine," Mark replied with a shrug.

"But he's a boy!" Sammie complained.

"And so am I," Chuck added.

"Come on, Daddy," Sammie needled. "Can I just get a hint then?"

"Fine," Chuck relented. "It's made by Ralph Lauren. That's all I'm going to say."

"Oh, my God!" Sammie exclaimed, her eyes widening in excitement before reaching for her phone. "I got to tell my friends." She frowned. "How come the phone's not working?"

"It shouldn't," Chuck replied. "The White House has a number of cell phone jammers stationed through the premises."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that when it comes to security the government doesn't take any chances."

Ever since the Chinese had wrecked utter havoc on the United States' infrastructure during the Greater Asian War, having hacked into its computer networks and shutting down a large part of the United States' satellite communication systems, the US had become completely paranoid about cybersecurity and rightfully so.

"How come yours worked then?"

"Mine's connected to a separate and secure government network," Chuck replied. "In fact, hand me your phones. All of you."

Grudgingly the twins handed over their phones.

"Yours too, honey," Chuck added addressing his wife.

"Why?" Michelle challenged. Chuck had just uprooted their lives, shattered her perceptions of him and had gotten them into this mess. Enough was enough.

Chuck pointed to Sammie's phone. "Each one of these cell phones has a GPS tracking device on them that allows the network administrators to track the exact location of the phone at all times."

"You mean they can do that?"

"It's been done ever since cell phones have come out." Seeing their blank looks, Chuck asked rhetorically, "How else are your phones able to give exact directions to where you're going?"

"Oh," all three members of the Bartowski family chorused, understanding dawning in the faces.

Chuck continued. "The fact that you're related to me means that you're now a highly valued target to anyone wanting to either extort money from the US government or working for our enemies. Or even both. Fact is, someone can hack into our wireless carrier and use your phones to quickly discover your location."

"So when do we get those back?" Sammie asked hopefully.

"You won't," Chuck replied, succinctly. "They'll be dismantled and melted into scrap. You'll be given government-issued phones shortly."

"But, Dad, my phone is my life," Sammie whined.

"Same here," Mark chipped in.

"Kids, you can live without a phone. In fact, I didn't start using a cell phone until I got out of high school."

"What?"

"It's true," Michelle added. "I didn't start using one until college."

"Then what are we going to do? It's not like we have school or anything." Mark would regret his choice of words.

"Well, while you were sleeping on the flight to Washington, I was speaking with your principal. The two of you are on independent study contracts for the remainder of the semester," Chuck told them.

"Dad, you're evil." Mark told him, not liking this one bit.

"Well, what can I say, I'm in the CIA," Chuck replied grinning.

**State Dining Room**

**The White House**

**Washington, DC**

To say that Michelle Bartowski was out of her element was an understatement. Dressed in an elaborate evening gown - picked out by her husband, no less - and attending a formal state dinner as a guest of the President, she was way out of her comfort zone and nervous. While she had gone to many a black tie event during her stint as a doctor, none of them were nowhere near this magnitude or importance.

Feeling uncomfortable, she shifted nervously once more.

"Honey, for the last time, you're fine," Chuck reassured her, noticing his wife's clear discomfort. Unlike his wife, he was more than comfortable in his Armani tuxedo, wearing it as if he were wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

"You look great, Michelle," Morgan added, dressed in his Army mess dress uniform, showing off his medals and campaign ribbons loud and clear for all to see.

"Trust me," Casey added, also similarly dressed in the Marine Corps equivalent. "Everyone is looking at the President, the British Prime Minister, and their respective spouses. Unless you slip and fall, no one is going to pay attention to you."

"Daddy, that wasn't nice," Alex punched him in the arm under the table.

"Hey, it's the truth," Casey protested.

"Dad, what is this?" Mark asked as he sipped the soup.

"It's Mulligatawny," Chuck replied.

"Mulli-what?"

"Mulligatawny's a soup with Indian roots taken to England by British troops serving in what is now India and Pakistan," Chuck replied.

"How do you know all of this, Dad?" Sammie asked.

"I spent some time in the Indian subcontinent and acquainted with the food."

Michelle winced, "It's spicy." It was a bit hot for her taste.

"Well, I did say it had Indian roots," Chuck told her before turning to Mark. "By the way, son, you're using the wrong spoon."

"Huh?" Mark asked confusion evident on his face.

"You're using the desert spoon," Chuck gently corrected. "You're supposed to use the short round one on the right." He pointed to the appropriate silverware.

"Really?" Mark's face turned red.

Chuck also noticed that his daughter had also been guilty of the same error and had discretely switched her silverware thinking that no one had noticed.

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "Kids, remember this when you go to a formal banquet. There's going to be one pair of silverware per course served."

"How will we know which pair to use?" Mark asked mentally noting everything down.

"Go from the outside in," Chuck told him.

"Thanks, Dad," Mark said gratefully. "What?" he asked defensively as he saw his sister staring at him as if he had grown a second head. "I just want to make sure that if I go on a nice date with a girl, I won't make an ass out of myself in the restaurant."

"Is it really that important?" Sammie asked.

"Trust me, Sammie," Chuck replied. "It's more important than you think. It's the little details that make the extraordinary stand out form the ordinary."

"Really?" Sammie asked, her eyes brightening.

"Yep." Chuck gave his trademark Bartowski grin. "Anyone can do the big things, but the little things? Only the best remember the little things as well."

"That's why I fell for your father," Michelle added as the waiters brought out the main course. "He always did manage to remember the smallest details about me."

"What's that?" Mark asked pointing at what appeared to be a large loaf of bread with potatoes.

"Beef Wellington," Chuck told his son.

"Beef what?"

"Beef Wellington. It's a beef tenderloin coated with pate and covered with pastry crust."

"Pate?" Mark's face scrunched up in disgust.

"Son, I'd advise you to eat it before you make any judgments about the food," Chuck told his son. "Besides I know how much you like steak," he reasoned with him.

Mark still refused to take a bite.

Chuck's eyes narrowed, showing his family a side of him that he had hidden from them for so long. "Son, this meal was made by the White House Executive Chef, a man that has been a master at the art of Cooking long before you were a gleam in my eyes, and a master in his field. I think he knows a bit more about food than you do."

"But, Dad," Mark began to protest, hoping to convince his father.

"Son, I would highly advise you to eat your dinner or else I will guarantee you that you will not like the consequences one bit," Chuck told his son in the same manner as if he were addressing an enemy agent.

Mark nodded, quailing under his father's orders and began to eat.

"Was that really necessary?" Michelle asked.

"It's been way overdue," Chuck told her. "It's about time that he stop acting like an eight year old when it comes to eating food he doesn't like." It was highly mortifying to Chuck that his son was such a picky eater.

Michelle's eyebrows rose. Everyone else stayed silent, not wanting to get into what appeared to be a family affair.

"He'll thank me later on in life." Chuck stated simply as he began to cut up the food.

_It was amazing how things could change, _Michelle thought as she watched Morgan and Alex execute a stately waltz on the dance floor, flowing effortlessly with the music performed live by the National Symphony Orchestra.

After the dinner was done, Casey and Kathleen had taken the twins back to their shared house, much to the protests of both of their children, leaving the two couples to themselves for the rest of the night.

Chuck had left to get refills for their drinks fifteen minutes ago. However, he hadn't returned as of yet, leaving her all alone, much to her distress.

"Can I get a penny for your thoughts?" a well cultured and accented voice interrupted her brooding.

"What?" Michelle said temporarily disoriented before turning to see a well-dressed middle-aged man standing right beside her.

"That's how you Yanks say that, right?"

"Yes, it is," Michelle admitted. "And you are?"

"My apologies, madam. Cole Barker at your service."

"Michelle Bartowski."

The man's widened but only for a second. "As in . . . ?"

"Director Incumbent Charles Bartowski? I'm his wife," Michelle admitted.

"Interesting," Barker remarked. "Well, I can say this. Mr. Bartowski is a very lucky man indeed," he told her suavely.

Despite being in her early fifties, there was something about the way that Mr. Barker spoke and acted that made Michelle feel like she was teenage girl back in high school again. "Why, thank you," she said trying to hide her blush. "So what are you doing here?" she asked.

"Me? I'm just a simple businessman and friend of my local MP, who just happened to snag me a spot at this important event," Cole replied shrugging.

"Bullshit." Chuck's voice cut through the air like a knife as he carried two glasses of wine. "I'm sorry for taking so long," he said, addressing Michelle. "Senator Greenfield wanted a word with me. Evidently the RNC is having a formal reception next Tuesday and we're invited," he added as he gave her a glass.

"Honey!" Michelle scolded her husband for his rude behavior.

"This man here is having you on," Chuck replied grinning. "He's Sir Cole Barker, Knight Commander of the Order of Saint Michael and Saint George, and Director of MI-6. Isn't that right Sir Cole?"

Cole raised up his hands in mock surrender. "You got me," he grinned. "Congratulations on your appointment, Chuck. For what it's worth you have the support of MI-6 and the British Crown." He turned to Michelle. "My apologies, Lady Bartowski, for leading you on. I'm terribly sorry and I hope you're not offended."

"_Lady_ Bartowski?" Michelle asked, puzzled.

"You mean he didn't tell you?" Cole asked, surprised.

"Tell me _what_?" Michelle glared at Chuck.

"It was nothing really," Chuck replied trying to wave it off. "I just happened to be in Britain in the right place and the right time."

"If that's what you call killing an entire group of Provos, who happened to be holding the heir to the throne, I'd hate to see what you'd call something," Cole remarked.

"_What_?" Michelle's eyebrows were nearly reaching the top of her forehead. "That was you?" She remembered that incident in the news, three weeks after the twins were born.

"Yeah," Chuck admitted sheepishly.

"Your husband here got a knighthood for his actions that day."

"I'm an Honorary Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order, which entitles me to be addressed by any subject of the British Crown as Sir Charles and you as Lady Bartowski," Chuck explained.

"Really," Michelle asked, wondering if she really knew anything about her husband.

An aide quietly came up to Cole, "Director, may I interrupt you for a second? The PM would like a word with you."

"I'm dreadfully sorry to cut this short but alas duty calls. It was great speaking with you again Chuck," Cole apologized before walking off the aide.

"Is there anything _else_ you'd like to tell me?" Michelle angrily hissed once everyone was out of hearing range.

Chuck was spared the duty of answering when Alex and Morgan, having just finished their last dance and sensing trouble quickly moved to head off a potential blow up between the two.

"Hey Chuck," Morgan said, "Saw you talking with Director Barker anything we need to know about?"

"No," Chuck replied, grateful for the interruption. "Just the fact that he heard about my appointment and that he along with the British Government offer their support."

Morgan snorted, "Chuck, the whole world knows about your appointment."

"Ya think? I don't know, maybe because it was on national TV?" Chuck shot back sarcastically.

"Boys," Alex cautioned smiling.

"Anything else happen?"

"Oh he did try to pull the moves on Michelle," Chuck replied, a little put off by Cole's antics.

"It was nothing," Michelle interjected.

"What me to punch him for you?" Morgan asked.

"You? Punch the Director of MI-6? Not if you want to create an international incident, especially with one of our closest allies. Besides as the offended party, shouldn't _I_ be the one doing the punching?"

"Not in this case, you're a political appointee with a reputation to protect," Morgan shrugged, "Me? I'm just an Army Major working for the NSA. I can afford to punch out a member of a foreign delegation."

"Well honey, if you keep this up, you'll be 'just an Army Major working for the NSA' who will be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future," Alex told her husband.

"Ouch," Chuck replied much to the laughter of everyone, even Morgan who took it in good stride.

"I'm here all week folks, Morgan Grimes the human punching bag," he said grinning.

Chuck took a sip of his dessert wine while scanning the area around him, something that had been ingrained in this psyche for the last twenty years. He grimaced. The last person that he wanted to speak with at the moment was rapidly walking towards him and Chuck had no way out.

"Long time no see Chuckie," Carina Hansen said sultry tone, stunning as ever in a black dress that accentuated her lithe form as she approached the two couples.

"Hello Carina," Chuck replied warily. Dealing with Carina was like juggling nitroglycerin. You knew something was going to blow up but you just didn't know when.

"What do you want Hansen?" Alex snapped, her arms wrapping around Morgan possessively.

"What? I can't even say hi to an old friend _Agent_ McHugh?" Carina replied.

"It's McHugh-_Grimes_ now," Alex replied emphasizing the last word.

To say that Special Agent Alexandra McHugh-Grimes detested Carina Hansen would be an understatement. She hated the woman with all of her being. And for good reason too.

After having her romantic advances completely and utterly rebuffed by Chuck, Carina Hansen had set her eyes on a new target: Morgan Grimes, Chuck's friend and now fellow Agent However when she arrived at Fort Bragg, hoping to surprise then First Lieutenant Grimes who was attending Airborne School at the time, Alex, then just an FBI Trainee on leave d kindly informed her that Morgan Grimes was off the market and that if she took any further action towards her property, there would be hell to pay.

Naturally this only encouraged Carina and the very next night, snuck into Morgan's quarters when he was sleeping and tied him to the bed and was about to have her wicked way with him when Alex showed up, hoping to congratulate him from graduating from Jump School.

While only Morgan was witness to the ensuing catfight, the results of said catfight was stuff of legend.

When it was all over, Alex McHugh was standing over was standing over a now-unconscious Carina Hansen who had according to Morgan 'had gotten the crap kicked out of her' and had proceeded to _her_ way with the Morgan.

"Congratulations then," Carina replied. "I take it you have the house, the dog and the standard two point five kids then?" she smirked.

Fifteen years ago, in what had been a routine mission, Alex had been hit badly in the stomach. While she managed to survive, the doctors told her that she could never have children, a crushing moment for both Morgan and Alex as the two had always wanted kids.

Alex growled.

"Congratulations on your appointment Chuckie. Who knew twenty three years ago, that you Charles Bartowski would become the next Director of the CIA?"

"Well Carina I'm not the Director yet," Chuck replied calmly.

"Pure semantics," she replied flippantly. You and I both know that both know that you're a show in for the job." Carina walked in close and began to run her fingers up and down Chuck's chest. "You know I never got to thank you for that time in Buenos Aires. How about we leave this party and have our own _personal_ celebration," she purred.

"Carina while I'm flattered, I'm going to have to decline your offer," Chuck replied, flashing his wedding band. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Michelle Bartowski. This is Field Agent Carina Hansen of the DEA."

Carina took a look at Michelle, sizing her up. "My congratulations then Chuckie, I never thought you would get over Walker. How long ago did you tie the knot? Two? Three years ago?"

"Excuse me?" Michelle asked indignantly. "We've been married for almost eighteen years."

Carina's eyes sparkled, which was never a good thing. "Really that's interesting. You never mentioned your wife once all those times when I tried having my wicked way with you when we had missions together. All I remember is you saying that you hadn't gotten over Walker yet and weren't ready to start a relationship."

Michelle glared at her husband, "Is that true?"

"My personal and work lives are two separate things and it's best to keep it that way," Chuck stated firmly.

"Until now," Carina pointed out. "Michelle, there are three unchangeable facts of life: death, taxes and Chuck's love for Sarah Walker. Isn't that right?" Carina asked rhetorically, smiling.

Sensing a rise out of Michelle, Carina decided to push it further, "You know what's interesting Michelle? For a twenty year old grave, Sarah Walker's grave looks awfully well maintained and is always surrounded by fresh flowers. I wonder _who_ could have been behind that?"

"But wait there's more. Did you know that there's nothing that Chuckie won't do for Sarah Walker? Did you know when Walker was supposedly captured by a rogue Agent, Chuck called in every military and intelligence asset on the West Coast to save her. You even sent in a B-2 Stealth Bomber didn't you?

"Or the time when you flew from Burbank all the way to Paris on in order to save the woman that you loved? And how you engaged in a gunfight with a CIA Agent-gone traitor to get her back? Sarah told me about it before she died. You know, Michelle you're a lucky woman to have a husband with that kind of dedication towards the woman that he loves."

Michelle continued to glower at her husband, not trusting her self to speak as she remembered every Valentine's, Birthday and Anniversary that Chuck had missed due to 'work.' He had even missed the birth of their children choosing instead to go on yet another install.

"Looks like I touched a nerve didn't I?" she asked. "My, my, my Chuckie after all this time, you still haven't gotten over her. It's been what? Twenty years and you still can't move on?"

"Carina I think it's best if you were to leave right now," Chuck replied dangerously.

"You're no fun Chuckie," Carina pouted. "You're such a spoilsport," Carina shrugged, "I just want to let you know one thing, Chuck. You could have done much better in finding a wife. She's nothing compared to Walker," before turning to leave.

"God that woman is awful," Michelle said after Carina was out of earshot.

"Don't we all," Morgan agreed.

Later

Undisclosed Location, Washington D.C

"What else haven't you told me?" Michele demanded Chuck as the two began to change out of their clothes and into their pajamas.

"Michelle…"

"You have a Knighthood, know the head of M1-6, and saved the Prince of Wales for crying out loud. And that's just from one person. And don't get me started about that woman Carina! What else don't I know Chuck?

She started to cry. "For the last twenty years that I've known you, I always thought you to be a standup guy who happens to be somewhat of a dork and now I find out that you're a spy with connections all across the globe. I don't even know the man that I married. Who are you really Chuck?"

"Come here Michelle," Chuck said softly as he embraced his wife. "I know this is hard on you and it's hard on me too. I never thought I'd be in this position, being thrust from the shadows and completely into the spotlight. If I had it my way, I'd run away from all of this and spend the rest of my life in obscurity with you and the kids."

"Why don't you? Why can't we just run away from all of this and go back to Burbank and forget that this ever happened?"

"We can't. The genie is out of the bottle and we can never go back to what it used to be. As soon as the President announced my name, my fate is sealed. And even if I could run away from all of this, I wouldn't."

"Why?" Michelle asked, tears running down her face.

"Because my country needs me and regardless of what I want for my self and my family, I'll always put my country first," Chuck replied truthfully. It was quite possibly the one truthful thing he had told his wife during the entirety of their marriage.

Michelle continued to sob.

**The Next Day**

**The Oval Office**

**The White House**

"Ah Director Incumbent Bartowski, please come in," President Martin said seated in one of the Oval Office's couches as he beckoned Chuck, his team and their families who were all attired in formal wear yet again.

"I trust that you enjoyed last night's festivities?"

"Yes we did. Thank you for the last minute invitation Mr. President," Chuck replied comfortable as ever in his dark suit and tie.

"Not a problem," Martin replied. "Take a seat and let's get down to business shall we?"

"I've spoken with Senator Dean," the President referred to the Senate Majority Leader, "and we believe that it is best for everyone to begin confirmation hearings next week."

"Next week?" Chuck's eyebrows rose. This was faster than light speed in Washington standards.

"We need a permanent CIA Director and we need one now," Marin replied firmly. "The faster that human piece of shit Hayworth is out of there," Martin looked at Michelle and the twins, "Excuse me, the better it is for everyone."

"Sir, to be honest. I haven't even prepared my testimony or have any sort of preparation whatsoever." The last thing one wanted to be when facing a Congressional hearing was to be unprepared. Politicians from both sides of the aisle were experts at flaying the skin off of those they had subpoenaed and enjoyed doing so.

"I know, that's why I've assigned one of my staff to prepare you for your questioning as fast as possible," Marin replied. "In fact she's on her way right now."

The doors opened.

"Ah Stacey just right on time just like usual," the President addressed the new arrival. "I'd like you to meet Charles Bartowski, the next Director of the CIA."

"Mr. Bartowski this is Stacey Williams, one of my long time staffers. She's been with me ever since I was a Congressman all those years ago."

_She hadn't changed much_ Chuck thought as his eyes hardened. Other than a few streaks of iron gray mixed in with her blonde locks and the pair of glasses that framed her face, along with the conservative dark pant suit, she looked just like she did all those years ago.

Chuck stood up, his face impassive and stony. And before any of the President's Secret Service Detail could react, he quickly drew his service pistol from underneath his jacket and pointed it at the new arrival.

"Hello Sarah, long time no see," Chuck stated his voice full of ice as he moved to disengage the safety.

Thoughts?

Please review

-cast2007


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